


The Fall of the Steward

by Ithiliana



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Dark elements, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiliana/pseuds/Ithiliana
Summary: The Ring was never found. The various major characters' lives went on fairly happily. Frodo has been travelling with Gandalf to help with his research, and the story opens in 3018 when Gandalf wants to spend some time at the Minas Tirith archives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've strengthened some of the Hobbit characteristics Tolkien describes in his Prologue: "they love peace and quiet and good tilled earth....their elusiveness is due solely to a professional skill that heredity and practice, and a close friendship with the earth, have rendered inimitable by bigger and clumsier races." Given how hobbits live, I’m postulating that they need regular contact with the natural world (grass, air, fresh water, etc.) or they start to waste away. Also, they need lots of cuddling!

**Chapter 1: Arrival at Minas Tirith**

Frodo looked out from Gandalf’s cloak. The rain that had begun last night had ended, and they were approaching Minas Tirith. Huge mountains loomed in both the East and the West. Ahead, he could see a mass of stone which at first he thought must be a part of the mountain. Then, as the sun rose completely above the mountains and shone on the white walls, he could see it was a huge City. 

Over the last few years, Frodo had traveled far with Gandalf, but he had seen no comparable sight. The villages in the Shire he knew well, but he had also seen Meduseld where Théoden King ruled, as well as the huge mallorn trees of Lothlórien with Elven homes built in and among the living trees, but nothing had been comparable to this City.

"You never told me how huge it was," he said.

"The Men of old built many amazing places—this City was not even their capital. Minas Tirith was originally Minas Anor, built as an outpost to Osgiliath, which lies in ruins along the Anduin."

Frodo gazed in wonder, seeing the many walls—he counted seven—and gates, all surrounding a huge bastion of stone that rose in the middle of the City. The banner of the Stewards floated from the White Tower in the crisp morning breeze. 

They rode up to the Great Gate and were greeted by the men at arms who let them pass. Shadowfax bore them up the long, winding road, moving back and forth across the face of the City to pass through the gate in each wall. 

Despite the City's size and beauty, Frodo saw that many of the houses were silent, closed up. Gandalf spoke no word as they made their way through the seventh gate. 

The Guards of the Citadel surrounded them, and Frodo and Gandalf dismounted for no horse was allowed in the Citadel. Gandalf spoke to Shadowfax who followed one of the guards. Frodo felt nervous surrounded by tall men wearing black, their faces mostly hidden by winged helms with long cheek-guards. These guards wore black with strange helms, high-crowned, with long cheek-guards, and the white wings of sea-birds.

They followed one of the guards across a courtyard. A fountain was in the center, and a green lawn lay around it. Frodo slowed, appreciating the scent of water and fresh grass, but felt dismay when he saw that a dead tree stood in the middle of the pool, falling drops dripping from its barren branches into the fountain. 

As they walked down the paved passage, Gandalf spoke softly to Frodo. "Do not speak Frodo. Denethor, the Steward, is powerful, of a long line of rulers though he is not called a king. Let me lead here. And say nothing to anyone of Aragorn."

"Very well," Frodo whispered back, awed by the implications of Gandalf’s warning.

A tall door, gleaming in the sun, opened before them, allowing them into a great hall lit by windows on each side. Black pillars drew Frodo's gaze down the hall to the throne set high on a dais under a marble canopy. Behind the canopy rose the image of a Tree carved into the wall and set with jewels. 

The throne was empty. Frodo saw an old man sitting in a low, black chair set upon the lowest step of the dais. In his hand was a white rod with a golden knob. He did not look up as they approached. 

Frodo followed Gandalf down the long hall until they stood a few paces from his chair.

"Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith."

When the old man looked up, Frodo gasped, reminded of Aragorn.

"You are welcome, Mithrandir, as is your. . . friend?" The old man paused, turning powerful eyes upon Frodo who felt like hiding in Gandalf’s cloak.

"Allow me to present Frodo, son of Drogo, a Hobbit of the Shire, a country that lies far to the North." Gandalf laid a hand on Frodo’s shoulder and propelled him forward.

Frodo bowed.

"A Hobbit?" 

"Or, a Halfling, his people are called in the South."

"A Halfling?" Denethor leaned forward a bit. "I have read of Halflings, but we do not have much lore concerning them."

Frodo hesitated, afraid to say anything. 

Denethor returned his attention to Gandalf. "Do you have a reason for coming to us this year, Mithrandir? The Enemy we do not name seems to be less active this spring, judging from the reports our scouts across the River have sent. There have been no signs of any major movements."

"No reason, Lord, save your promise several years ago that I could look at records of ancient days and the beginnings of the City." 

Denethor smiled. "I remember. You are welcome to read all you wish." 

"If that is all you wish, then read on!" said Denethor. Striking a gong next to his chair, he ordered the servant who came through the door to lead the guests to the barracks of the Third Company. 

"If you should find aught of importance in your reading, my Lord Mithrandir, come to me with it. I am master of the lore in my City, yet you may find something new, perhaps concerning Halflings?" He smiled, then, glancing again at Frodo. Then he released them, waving them away to follow the silent servant. 

The guide took them from the doors of the hall across the Court of the Fountain. As Frodo followed Gandalf through the gate from the Court into the courtyard outside, dazzled by the light, he nearly ran into a large man who was trying to enter. Frodo stumbled backwards, receiving only a confused impression of a red and gold tunic, armor, and blond hair. The man did not stop, casting them an annoyed glance and hurrying on. 

Gandalf helped Frodo to his feet and brushed him off. "That was Boromir, eldest son of Denethor," he said, looking after the man. "I wonder why he is in such a hurry. Usually, he is much more courteous." 

They caught up with their guide who led them into one of the lanes that ran between the tall buildings of stone. After several turns, they came to a house built close to the wall of the Citadel. They were shown within to a large room, light and airy, with hangings of gold upon the walls and three high narrow windows. Frodo climbed onto a bench to look out over the City and the River. 

Gandalf thanked the servant and set down his pack on a small table that sat between two chairs. Frodo climbed down and took off his pack as well. Gandalf showed him that some of the curtains masked alcoves where two beds, with feather pillows and comforters, awaited nightfall. 

"Well, Frodo, what do you think of the City and its Lord?" Gandalf asked, smiling. 

"He frightened me, a little," Frodo confessed. "He seemed so stern, and seemed to know something about Halflings that amused him." 

"Do not hold too great a fear, but a little will probably help you deal with him more respectfully. Hobbits have a habit of expressing themselves a bit too freely for the taste of high lords. Well, now that we have permission to start our research, what next?" 

Frodo was aware of the large emptiness in his stomach. They had eaten lightly last night and early this morning, so surely Gandalf would start with a meal. 

"Perhaps we should go immediately to the Archives," Gandalf said, starting out the door. 

Frodo stared, dismayed, "But, Gandalf. . . " he started after him. 

Gandalf strode hurriedly down the street, and Frodo had to stretch his legs to keep up. He told himself that he would not die of hunger, that in his travels with Gandalf he had gone even longer without food, but his stomach did not seem inclined to listen. He followed Gandalf down a wide alley where he stopped near an open hatch. 

"The storehouse of the Third Company," Gandalf said, smiling down at him, his eyes twinkling. "You surely do not think I would keep you any longer from food?" 

Frodo was so relieved he decided not to be angry at Gandalf for his trick. The serving man, who told them his name was Targon, gave them ale, bread, cheese, and some of the last apples from winter storage. They returned to their room with the food, and even Frodo was satisfied before they finished. 

Then they went to the Archives. 

**Chapter 2: In the White Tower of Ecthelion**

Boromir entered the room at the top of the tower. His father’s summons had ordered him to come immediately but had not said why. He blinked in the dimness of the room which was lit only by what light could enter through two narrow windows. 

His father stood in the center of the room, hunched over the high table, hands flat on its surface. Boromir paused, then forced himself to walk to his father’s side, trying to ignore the feeling that what they were doing was more dangerous than any battle. When they had first found the palantir, his father had used it maybe once a week. Now, as far as Boromir could tell, he was using it daily. 

He stood looking down into the swirling red depths. Warriors do not avoid what they fear, he told himself. 

"Lord?" he said, quietly. 

His father turned to look at him, the red fire that lit the dark globe in front of him reflected in his eyes. "A Halfling has arrived in the City, accompanying Gandalf. I have seen much this morning," he said. "And what I have seen explains your dream." 

Faramir had first had the dream a month ago, the night before Orcs had assaulted Osgiliath. They had beaten them back, but Faramir had experienced the dream twice more, and Boromir once. In the dream, a growing darkness and thunder came from the East, but a pale light lingered in the West. Out of the light, a voice came, crying: 

There shall be shown a token  
That Doom is near at hand,  
For Elendil’s Sword shall waken  
When the Halfling forth shall stand. 

"What have you seen?" Boromir asked. 

He was shocked to learn him that a Halfling had arrived. What sort of Doom could be at hand? What could a Halfling do? He realized that the small figure he had seen in the court earlier must have been this creature, but it seemed so insignificant. 

"I have seen that a Company is coming from the North, led by one who bears the sword of Elendil, one who claims to be his heir through Isildur’s line." Denethor’s voice was cold. 

Boromir could not believe it. The Stewardship of their House had lasted for nearly an age, over 900 years, and he had grown up knowing that he would follow his father, and his son follow him, as inevitably as winter followed fall, and spring, winter. Nobody had ever expected a King to return. He started as his father grasped his wrist. 

"Keep an eye on that Halfling, and Gandalf. I know he plots against us. His arrival is no coincidence," Denethor said. 

Before Boromir could pull back, his father pulled his hand over to rest it against the palantir. Boromir staggered and nearly fell at the sensation that ripped through him, a simultaneous pull and thrust, as if some ravenous mouth sucked at his soul while a spear of fire thrust into his belly. Harsh laughter sounded in his ears even after the palantir released him. 

**Chapter 3: First Meeting**

Within a few days, Gandalf had established a routine. In the morning they rose early, ate, and went to the Archives. 

These were a series of rooms in the Citadel. Frodo was amazed to see how much space was dedicated to storing scrolls, documents, even books. He was used to Bilbo’s study which had an amazing number of scrolls and books for a hobbit, but Gondor’s archives were as much beyond his collection as the Tower of Ecthelion was higher than a hobbit hole! They rivalled Elrond's library at Rivendell. 

Except for tables and chairs in each room, stocked with inkpots and quills, the only other furnishings were the baskets containing scrolls. Many tables were piled high with documents. Large windows allowed light to enter during the day. 

The Archivist knew Gandalf from past visits, but even so, did not trust him to find or handle the oldest materials on his own. Gandalf spent all day in the Archives, but Frodo was only expected to help him in the mornings. During that time, as Gandalf read, he would carefully copy selections from the materials Gandalf had read the day before. 

Then, about the time the noontime meal was served for the Third Company, Gandalf would send Frodo off and settle down with the Archivist to consult on what next to study and make his selections for the next day. 

Frodo would go for his meal, then wander around the City. Sometimes he would spend time in the stable with Shadowfax. Other afternoons were spent exploring, within and without the City. Frodo could not believe how hard it was to find green spaces in the City—he often went directly outside to feel grass rather than hard stone beneath his feet. 

But the routine was disrupted before ten days had passed. Lenhir, one of the Healers from the Houses of Healing, came to their room to ask for Gandalf’s help. People were coming down with a strange illness, one that none of the Healers recognized. After that night, Gandalf spent most afternoons at the Houses of Healing. Hearing him mention the beautiful gardens there, Frodo asked to accompany him the next time he went, and Gandalf agreed. 

Several days later, Gandalf went with Frodo for lunch, then led him to the Houses of Healing. Lenhir welcomed Frodo and gave him directions to the garden, then took Gandalf off to consult about several new patients. 

Frodo walked through the long stone passages wondering why the Men of Gondor so loved creating buildings that felt like tombs. He was glad to reach the door to the gardens, a door which led to the most beautiful green space he’d yet seen in this City of stone. 

At the heart of the Houses of Healing lay several walled gardens, both for use and pleasure, and Frodo wandered slowly through them. They were beautiful, and he decided that he would ask Lenhir if he could spend time here. 

Several days later, with Lenhir’s permission, he came to spend some time in the rose garden. The roses were starting to bloom, and the garden reminded him of Sam. He also liked the beautiful fountain in the middle of the space, one without the dead Tree which so disturbed him in the Citadel. 

When he entered the garden, he stopped, dismayed. Someone was already there, lying on the grass near the fountain, eyes closed. A young man with reddish gold hair, one arm in a sling. Frodo realized he must be one of the patients. He wore green, a loose tunic and leggings. 

He started to withdraw quietly, not wanting to disturb the patient, but the man opened his eyes and saw him. He rose, leaning on his good arm. 

"Do not leave because of me, child," he said. 

Frodo flushed. He was often mistaken for a child in Gondor, but he still found it irritating. 

He walked over to the young man whose eyes widened. "Forgive me—I did not realize. Are you perhaps the Halfling who accompanies Mithrandir?" 

"Yes," Frodo smiled. At least this one had intelligence enough to understand and admit his mistake when he’d gotten a good look. "My name is Frodo, Frodo Baggins." 

"Mine is Faramir," the young man said, sitting up. "Have you been ill?" 

"No—I just like the gardens, and Lenhir said I could walk in them during the day." Frodo stood, shifting from foot to foot. He wondered if the young man really wanted him to stay or was just being polite. 

"Sit down—please!" Faramir said, gesturing to the grass. "Unless you’d prefer we move to a bench." 

"Oh, no," Frodo said, hastily sinking down. "This is much better." 

He spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden with Faramir. They talked of Elves, mostly, because Faramir was fascinated to hear that Frodo had accompanied Gandalf to both Lothlórien and Mirkwood. Faramir’s only knowledge of the Elves was from reading and talking to Gandalf whom he had known most of his life. When the sun was falling toward the West, Lenhir came out to tell Faramir that he must return to his room to eat and sleep. 

Faramir shrugged, then grimaced, but he stood immediately. "Farewell, Frodo! If you have more free time to spend, please visit me again. I so enjoyed our talk that I almost forgot I was wounded." 

When Frodo asked him what happened to his shoulder, Faramir said that he’d been wounded in an encounter with a band of Orcs but refused to give any more details. Frodo wondered how often he had to face such danger. 

Meeting Gandalf for supper that night, Frodo told him about the young man in the garden and asked him about Faramir. 

"Yes, I know Faramir—he is the second son of the Lord Denethor. He is usually across the River in Ithilien, leading the Rangers who keep a watch on Mordor. I did not know he was wounded. I shall visit him when I am next at the Houses." 

The news that Faramir was the son of the Lord of the City made Frodo nervous, and he did not return the next day. But when Gandalf visited Faramir and then told Frodo that Faramir had asked after him, Frodo nerved himself to go back to the garden. 

Faramir was there, and the afternoon passed as quickly as before. Frodo felt that he could sit for hours, watching the play of sunlight and shadow across Faramir’s face, the light in his blue eyes, listening to his deep voice. 

A few days later, with Lenhir’s approval, Faramir left the Houses for a short time, walking back with Frodo to meet Gandalf for dinner. After eating, they sat for some time, drinking ale and sharing stories. Faramir had not traveled as widely as Gandalf, or Frodo, but he knew Ithilien and Gondor, and their history, in great detail. 

**Chapter 4: First Attack**

Frodo knelt on a stone seat in an embrasure in the wall of the battlement, hundreds of feet above the ground below, looking out over the vale below. He was waiting for Faramir who was now judged well enough by the Healers to walk around a bit during the day. Faramir had offered to show him around the Citadel and although Frodo did not relish the idea of spending such a beautiful afternoon inside the stone monument, he did like the idea of spending so much time with Faramir. 

When he heard steps coming, he turned, expecting Faramir. But it was the large man who had run into him the day they had arrived—Boromir. He walked toward Frodo, who stayed where he was, unsure of what to do. 

Boromir stopped in front of him, nodded. "We have not yet met, but my father Denethor has told me your name is Frodo. My name is Boromir." 

Frodo bowed slightly. It seemed safer to show more respect than might be necessary. 

"I saw you come here and followed." 

Frodo climbed down from the stone seat. "Can I help you in some way, my lord?" he asked. 

Boromir sat on down. "Yes," he said. 

Frodo waited a moment, growing more nervous. He thought that a shadow lay over Boromir’s face even though the Sun was overhead. His face seemed to be changing, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarser, harsh with a metallic note. 

"You can tell me what you are doing with my brother, Halfling." 

Frodo could not answer immediately because of his shock. He tried to edge back. "Nothing, lord, except that we have talked a few times. . . . about elves mostly. . . " 

"The guards are gossiping about you both," As he spoke, Boromir grabbed Frodo and pulled him close between his legs, holding him so tightly that Frodo gasped. 

Boromir’s hard hand slipped down the front of Frodo’s trousers and grasped him painfully, causing Frodo to writhe. 

"Well you’re not hung like a man, so that rumor’s wrong," Boromir said. He stood up, hauling Frodo up in front of him, dropping him on his stomach on the narrow sill. Frodo’s head spun as he looked directly down to see the long drop, and he shut his eyes. 

Holding him down with one hand pressed into the small of his back, Boromir yanked his trousers down, resulting in a searing pain. Cruel fingers probed him, and Frodo couldn’t help crying out. "That’s your secret, then, you’re tighter than a virgin. Do you cry when he fucks you, Halfling?" 

Frodo didn’t dare answer, just hung there over the ledge, eyes shut, trying to breathe. 

"Let’s see," came the hateful voice from behind him. Boromir pulled his fingers out, and after a moment, tried to enter him. Frodo twisted, was slapped. "Hold still." 

"Release him." The voice was quiet, but its tone caused Boromir to release Frodo. 

Frodo gasped in relief as he recognized Faramir’s voice. Boromir said nothing, but Frodo felt the pressure against his legs disappear. 

"Leave us. Now." 

"All right, brother, but this isn’t over." 

"I have come to believe it will never be over, brother." Faramir’s voice held more regret than anger. 

Footsteps echoed along the stone wall, then silence. 

Warm hands grasped Frodo carefully, sliding under his chest and thighs, lifting him up off the ledge to set him down. Frodo was trembling so badly that Faramir went to one knee in front of him to hold him up. Frodo could not bear the feeling of the man’s hands on him, and twisted away, trying to pull his trousers up. He couldn’t look at Faramir. 

Faramir released him, but stayed close as he stood. 

Frodo finished fastening his trousers, then looked up. "I want to go back to our room," he said. "Don’t tell Gandalf." 

Faramir frowned down at him and held his hand out. Both saw the blood. "You’re hurt," Faramir, said, picking Frodo up. 

Frodo stiffened. "Put me down!" 

Faramir stopped, but did not immediately comply. "Why? If you are hurt and I can get you more quickly to the Houses of Healing.." 

"I am not badly hurt—you came in time. . . " Frodo swallowed, not knowing exactly what to say. "And I don’t want to cause the talk that you carrying me will create. Your brother said there was talk about us already. And. . . I hate to be carried like a child." 

Faramir set him down quickly. "Very well, but we will go to the Houses of Healing and get someone—a Healer if not Gandalf—to examine you." 

Frodo agreed, just wanting to get away from this place. 

He had hoped to find one of the Healers who did not know Gandalf, but unfortunately, the first people they saw when they entered the Houses were Lenhir and Gandalf who were standing close together, talking animatedly. When Gandalf saw Frodo come in with Faramir, he came immediately. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"Can we go to a private room?" Faramir asked in a low voice. 

Gandalf frowned, but agreed, and after a final word or two with Lenhir showed them to a small room. 

Faramir told him what had happened, and Gandalf frowned even more. 

He asked Frodo to slide off his trousers and examined him gently, finding a long cut his upper thigh, probably caused by Boromir’s ring. He cleaned it and applied some salve, then left Frodo to dress while he spoke to Faramir in the hall. Gandalf closed the door partway, but Frodo could hear them even though they kept their voices low. 

Faramir, who had stood silently outside the door, spoke first. "I do not know what to say, Mithrandir. If I had not seen this with my own eyes, I would not have believed it. We have had our differences, my brother and I, but he has never done anything dishonourable!" 

Gandalf stood in silence a moment, rubbing his nose. "I agree. Something seems wrong here. While your father has never welcomed me as freely as he does Saruman, still, he has been friendlier in the past. And this mysterious new illness, one none neither the oldest Healers nor I recognize, is affecting more people every day." Gandalf paced up and down the hallway a few times. 

Frodo, who had finished dressing and come to stand in the doorway, watched him as he walked. It was as if Gandalf had to be in motion to think certain things through. 

Turning, Gandalf rejoined them. "Faramir, I gathered from what your father said that things are fairly quiet in Ithilien this season." 

"Fairly," Faramir smiled wryly, rubbing his shoulder. "We had only the one attempt on Osgiliath, and then a later group, who never came that close to the River. That group was fairly small and easily defeated." 

Gandalf rubbed his chin, considering. "Then, it would be safe enough if I were to advise you take Frodo out of the City, to one of your lodges in Ithilien, for. . . general recuperation and protection from this new illness." 

Frodo could not believe what he was hearing. To leave Gandalf. . . .but to be with Faramir. He held his breath. 

Faramir smiled down at Frodo, then nodded at Gandalf. "Safe enough, I should think," he said. "Especially if Boromir does not know where Frodo has gone. I am scheduled to return next week, but my father would not question my decision to remove there a bit earlier, for recuperation. In fact, I am not sure my father even notices if I am in the City or not." 

Frodo saw the pain that showed in Faramir’s face as he spoke. 

Gandalf tapped the floor with his staff. "Good. Then I so advise you." 

Lenhir came down the hallway at that moment, and Gandalf looked over Frodo’s head to speak to him. "And I’m sure that Lenhir will concur with this purely medical decision." 

Lenhir laughed as he joined them, slipping an arm around Gandalf’s waist. "You know I always agree with you, especially on medical decisions." 

"Do you think you can get yourself packed and out of the City by evening?" Gandalf asked Frodo and Faramir. 

They nodded. 

Frodo left with Faramir, making a note to remember to tell Merry and Pippin about Lenhir when he got back to the Shire. There had been a certain amount of speculation about Gandalf during the long winter nights at the Green Dragon! 

**Chapter 5: Healing in Ithilien**

Faramir chose to ride to the lodge rather than walk as the Rangers usually did. Frodo declined to try to ride another horse, and there were no ponies in the Citadel's stables, so Faramir took him up in front of him as Gandalf always did. 

However, Frodo thought that riding with Faramir was much better. No beard tickling his ears and neck and, best of all, no staff knocking him on the knee. 

Besides, Faramir was, not plump exactly, Frodo thought, but more muscular, more broadly built, very pleasant to lean back against as they traveled across the River and into Ithilien. And his arms which circled Frodo to hold the reins were less bony. Then there were his thighs, firm and muscular. And his scent, an intoxicating blend, spicy and sweet. As they penetrated further into Ithilien, Frodo decided that somehow Faramir had acquired the scent of one of the most beautiful countries Frodo had ever seen. 

Spring was in full and glorious bloom, shading into the riot of summer. Frodo looked at the trees and thickets, wondering about their names and wishing Sam could see this. Bright flowers were scattered in across the rich green of the grass, and streams pooled in hollows in the shade. Birds of many colors sang in the trees. 

The lodge was a small one, hidden in a grove of trees, built of wood and consisting of one large room with a shelter at the back for the horse. Inside were narrow beds built against the walls and a small store of supplies. They had to carry water from a stream not far away, and Frodo decided as he watched Faramir unpack the saddlebags that carried their supplies that they were not at risk of getting fat on what food they had. 

But that first night when they went outdoors to see the stars blazing down through the net of tangled branches, Frodo decided he didn't care. He slept better that night than he had been able to since arriving at Minas Tirith. 

They spent the first day arranging their supplies and doing some cleaning, and in more sleep. On the second day, Faramir took him on a ramble through the woods. 

When Frodo followed Faramir along a small stream, they came to a large pool, almost a small lake, surrounded by iris and dappled with water lilies. Washing, drinking deep of the cool water at the in-falling stream, they sat on the bank to eat their bread and cheese. As they ate, they saw two rabbits opposite them, drinking from the pool. 

Frodo finished eating and lay back on the soft grass listening to the quiet music of the falling water. He breathed deeply, relishing the air sweet with the scent of growing things, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and legs. He hadn't realized until now how being surrounded by the dead stone in the City had affected him. 

"Ithilien is beautiful," he said. "Why do so many of your people live inside that cold stone City?" 

Faramir laughed as he reclined next to Frodo, leaning on his good arm. "I've wondered that myself at times, but we no can no longer protect all of Ithilien. The Nameless Enemy has been trying to take control, and Orcs patrol the eastern areas. Here, close to the River, the country is usually safe, but people don't want to risk their families." 

Frodo nodded, understanding. Ithilien was beautiful, but not as safe as the Shire. 

In the silence, he could hear birds singing. 

And a whisper, almost too soft to hear. "Frodo." 

He turned his head to look at Faramir who reached out to touch Frodo's face. Then even more slowly, Faramir lowered his head, his lips brushing Frodo's. 

Warm and sweet, gentle at first, his lips grew more demanding against Frodo's mouth. Frodo opened his mouth to that demand, reaching out to clasp his arms around Faramir's neck. The kiss deepened, and Frodo tightened his arms. Faramir was still leaning on one arm above him, and he wanted to feel his whole body. The heat Frodo felt could only be satisfied by that contact. 

Faramir's hand traced a burning trail from Frodo's face down his neck, under his shirt. Frodo gasped and arched his back when Faramir's fingers rubbed over his nipple, erect and throbbing. The hand traced lower, circling, gently rubbing, hesitating, then sliding under his trousers. There, the hand stopped. 

Frodo opened his eyes in bewilderment, looking at Faramir. "Don't stop," he said. 

"I don't want you to think I am acting like Boromir. Do you truly wish this?" 

Frodo felt his mouth drop open. He hadn't thought of Boromir since-well, since they'd crossed the River. What could he say to Faramir? He knew he had to say something soon. "That was an assault," he said firmly, "this is love." And he pulled Faramir down against him. 

After sharing another long kiss, Faramir began to undress Frodo slowly, pausing after each piece of clothing came off to kiss and caress him. Frodo was glad that he was wearing only a shirt and trousers. Finally, he was naked, and tried to undo Faramir's tunic. 

"Not quite yet," Faramir said, and urged him to lie back down. 

Faramir leaned over him, his hands caressed him in a long sweeping motion, starting from his wrists, running down his arms, his sides, his legs, down to his feet. When Faramir's fingers trailed through the curly hair on his feet, Frodo's whole body tensed. Nobody had ever done that before! 

After several more caresses, Frodo felt as if his whole body was on fire, and he could not control his moans. Faramir then began to kiss his way down his body, his wet warm tongue darting out at some times, his teeth grazing Frodo's skin at others. Frodo writhed in pleasure, then cried out as Faramir's mouth and hands circled in on him, sucking and rubbing. 

His body arched higher and higher as Faramir's tongue swirled down, and his arms circled Frodo's body. The tingling fire grew and grew until it exploded through Frodo's body. 

For an uncounted time, Frodo lay panting. When he opened his eyes, he saw Faramir lying beside him again. He pulled Frodo to him, hugged him close. After a moment, he spoke. 

"I have to tell you something, Frodo. When I saw Boromir with you upon the battlements, my first thought was that I had interrupted an assignation." 

Frodo stiffened in shock, ready to deny it, but Faramir kept speaking. "The moment I actually was able to see you, I knew differently, of course, but how I first felt made me realize how deeply I'd come to care for you." 

Frodo relaxed, burrowing closer to Faramir, resting his head on his good shoulder. That was all right, then. 

"But that's why I hesitated earlier--I didn't want to force you." 

"That's why you wouldn't undress earlier, why you..." Frodo could feel himself blushing because he wasn't sure of what words might be appropriate in Gondor. He had never much liked some of the words used in the Shire, words which seemed rude or even hateful to him no matter how funny Pippin thought them. He sat up, then knelt by Faramir. 

"I appreciate your care, but, as Gandalf is always saying, hobbits are tougher than we look. What happened with Boromir was fearful, but it has nothing to do with you and me." Frodo started investigating the lacing of Faramir's tunic. "And I think I can prove that to you," he tugged on one end and ended up with two knots. "Although it will go a lot faster if you show me how these things work!" 

Faramir laughed, sat up, and started showing him how to undo the lacings of tunics and leggings. Privately, Frodo thought that the Men of Gondor's complicated clothing made as much sense as their tombs of buildings, but then not everyone wanted to live as simply as hobbits. 

He was a bit worried, fearing Faramir had been acting more out of kindness, but when the leggings finally came off, he had definite proof that kindness was not Faramir's primary response. When Faramir was finally naked, the sun glinting off the red gold hair that covered much of his body, Frodo pushed at his chest until he lay back down. Then Frodo sat across his chest, legs straddling his body. 

Leaning over, he began kissing Faramir, hands buried in the red gold hair, enjoying the softness. Faramir's arms closed around him, straining to hold him closer, but Frodo pulled away long enough to say, "Not quite yet," and then enjoyed kissing Faramir as he smiled. 

Then Frodo began kissing his way down Faramir's body, lingering at the base of his throat where he could feel the pulse of his life's blood. Wriggling down, which caused Faramir to moan in his turn, Frodo swirled his tongue around one nipple, then the other, then began to slowly back down Faramir's body which was tensing under him. 

When he was straddling the base of Faramir's stomach, Frodo could feel the erection against his rear. He paused, then leaned down until he was reclining on Faramir's chest, chin on his hands. Faramir raised his head and opened his eyes, looking into Frodo's. 

"I'm not going any further until you swear never to mention what Boromir did to me again," said Frodo. 

"Frodo!" 

"Swear!" 

Faramir's head fell back in total surrender. "I swear by the Tree," he said. 

Frodo slid further down along Faramir's body, positioning himself on his upper thighs and leaning down to slowly stroke, then lick the soft resilient flesh. Shutting his eyes, Frodo lost himself in the intoxication of scent and feeling, advancing, then retreating, the pulsing and flexing of the warm body underneath him, the sweetness of Faramir, the rhythms that swept Frodo up as well, all building to a final climax. 

Afterwards, Faramir pulled Frodo back up along his body to kiss him. They lay in the sunlight without speaking, Frodo's head on Faramir's chest, his arms around Faramir's neck, Faramir's arms around him. 

When they returned to the Lodge, they pulled two of the straw-stuffed mattresses off the narrow beds and piled them, along with all the pillows, on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

**Chapter 6: The Grey Company**

Gandalf heard the rumors in the street as he left the Houses of Healing. He had started spending even more time here because of the growing number of people suffering from this new illness. Lenhir and the other Healers were running themselves ragged caring for the patients, none of whom had recovered. 

Gandalf was frustrated. The disease had no physical cause that he could find. None of the victims had any wound or mark. They seemed to be stricken while they slept and could not wake, passing into a deeper sleep. Those affected first were starting to die, and he feared that the illness could sweep the City. He feared that they would not be able to find the cause, or a cure. 

But today the people on the street were not talking about the illness. They were talking about the arrival of a Company from the North. 

After Gandalf heard the third conversation, describing a group of Men who were all wearing grey cloaks and riding horses yet who were not from the Riddermark, he decided to go to the Citadel. 

He and Aragorn had met in Rivendell earlier in the year, and had one of their few disagreements. Aragorn was becoming impatient, wanting to claim the Kingship of Gondor, having prepared for more than six decades and knowing that he could not claim Arwen's hand until he was King. Gandalf did not think that he should make his claim now. 

Gandalf thought he had convinced Aragorn to wait, but perhaps he had been mistaken. 

He walked to the Citadel and was admitted to the great hall where Denethor held court. The hall was unusually full of people, the blaze of colors from their clothes bringing new life into the usually deserted hall. Gandalf walked towards the dais and saw that his fear was right. Aragorn stood in front of Denethor, his hand resting casually on the blade of Narsil, the green gem set in the silver eagle, the Elfstone that gave him the name of Elessar, blazing at his throat. 

Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond Halfelven, flanked him, their green and silver clothing, as well as their long, elaborately braided dark hair showing their ears, clearly marking them as Elven. Further back in the hall, looking more or less like a massed troop, stood Aragorn's kindred, the Dúnedain, Rangers of the North. At first glance, Gandalf estimated about thirty accompanied him. 

Denethor sat on his black chair with Boromir standing at his side. Gandalf came near enough to hear what was being said. 

"My Lord Aragorn, you are welcome to Minas Tirith. You and your Company are welcome to stay here while we consider the merits of your claim. We will need clear proof of so great a claim," said Denethor. 

Aragorn bowed. "My thanks, Lord Steward." 

After a few more courteous exchanges, the audience ended, and Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir were escorted to rooms in the Citadel. Gandalf noted that Denethor appointed Boromir to lead the Dúnedain to barracks some streets away. 

Later, Gandalf went to Aragorn's room. When he knocked, Aragorn told him to enter. Gandalf found him sitting in front of a fire, Narsil, sheathed, close at hand. The room he had been given was large and well appointed, a large bed with crimson hangings, comfortable chairs, rugs on the stone floor. Only the narrow windows were a reminder that the Gondor was in a state of war. 

Aragorn smiled as Gandalf entered. 

"I knew it was you," he said. "I saw you in the Hall." 

Gandalf moved to stand in front of the fire. He leaned on his staff rather than sitting and frowned at Aragorn. 

"Why are you here, Aragorn?" 

"I'm very glad to see you as well!" Then his smile dropped away, leaving him looking much older and worn with care. "Some time after you left Rivendell, Elrond foresaw great danger for Frodo here in Minas Tirith because of a prophecy that has come to the sons of the Steward." 

"A prophecy? What prophecy?" Gandalf fumed. He had heard nothing about a prophecy from Faramir! 

Aragorn leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he recited: 

There shall be shown a token  
That Doom is near at hand,  
For Elendil's Sword shall waken  
When the Halfling forth shall stand 

Gandalf was shocked. He had no knowledge of this prophecy, but Elrond's power of foresight could not be denied. And, he had to admit, Faramir had been so involved with Frodo that he might not have thought to mention the prophecy. 

Aragorn continued. "Elrond advised me to gather as many of the Dúnedain as possible and to come South. If I did not, he told me, Frodo's life would be claimed. I had a hard time believing it myself-what could one Frodo do to put himself in such danger? How could a hobbit, even one we love so much, be so important? But I could not deny the power of Elrond's will, especially since it marched so well with the wishes of my heart," Aragorn paused. "And especially since I know that on one level, he does not wish me to become King." 

Gandalf sank into a nearby chair and wished he had his pipe and tobacco pouch with him. He'd gotten out of the habit of carrying it because the Archivist would probably strike him down if he lit up near the precious scrolls and because Lenhir did not want the smoke to bother his patients. But if he ever needed a smoke! 

Aragorn was right. Elrond, though he loved his foster son, was not happy about Arwen's decision to give up her immortality and marry Aragorn when he became King. 

"Very well. I believe you have done the best thing, after all. But I need to get a message out of the City, to Frodo and Faramir." 

"They aren't here?" Aragorn sounded shocked. 

"No. I had to get them away, for protection. It's a long story--I'll tell you later. But can one of the Dúnedain get out of the city quietly and journey to Ithilien to bring them back, without alerting any of Denethor's guards?" 

Aragorn smiled again. "I'm sure that Halbarad could do so, easily. I know he has served in Gondor and Ithilien, as I did myself in the past. And his ability to move quietly is legendary by now. Did I ever tell you about the time he managed to sneak two Dwarves, three barrels of ale, and a Hobbit past me when we were on a training exercise?" 

Gandalf was surprised to find himself laughing, and he wondered how long it had been since he had the chance. "No, but I want to hear the story. After we get Halbarad started. I'm glad he's here with you. Frodo knows him, so will trust that the message he carries is true." 

**Chapter 7: The Summons**

Frodo and Faramir were outside the lodge that afternoon. Faramir had offered to teach Frodo some basic wrestling moves, ones that could help a person in a fight against a larger opponent. The focus wasn't on beating the larger opponent, but on using his size and weight against him to gain the chance to escape. 

The problem was that every time they tried to practice, the practice turned into lovemaking. 

Frodo decided that, in all fairness, he shouldn't really call that a problem. He had learned some new moves. And even some wrestling tricks. 

Now, even though he had missed the pivot and kick to the back of Faramir's knee that was supposed to topple the charging enemy, Faramir had obligingly fallen down anyway, then swept his arm around Frodo's knees and pulled him over as well. 

Frodo gasped as Faramir rolled over on him, hands busy under his clothing. Although he protested, it was just for the show of things. Privately, he was glad Faramir had stopped treating him like he would break at the least hint of rough handling. Maybe those stories he'd told about Pippin and Merry's wrestling matches had convinced him hobbits might bend but rarely broke! 

"Having such long arms is an unfair advantage," Frodo pointed out, while trying, not very hard, to escape. 

"I'll take any advantage I can get," Faramir mumbled into Frodo's hair, nuzzling his ear. 

A twig snapped. Faramir was instantly standing beside Frodo, holding the foot-long knife that was never far from his hand. His sword was a few feet away, set aside for the wrestling practice. 

In the next moment, Frodo saw the grey-cloaked Ranger standing under a tree and recognized Halbarad, a broken twig in his hands. 

Scrambling to his feet, Frodo said, "Faramir, I recognize him. He's a friend of Gandalf's." 

Faramir relaxed slightly though he did not yet sheathe his knife. 

Halbarad bowed his head. "I apologize, but you must admit there is no good way to approach at such a time. I bring an urgent summons from Gandalf and Aragorn." 

Faramir nodded, and sheathed his knife. "You'd better come in so we can speak in comfort." 

Halbarad followed Frodo and Faramir into the lodge. When he told them of Aragorn's arrival and presentation of his claim, Faramir was astounded. Frodo was less surprised, but then he had known about the Rangers of the North all his life. Apparently, knowledge that Isildur's line still survived had been lost in Minas Tirith. 

Faramir wasted no time in preparing to leave. When he learned that Halbarad also had a horse, left tethered some distance away, he proposed that they travel together and leave immediately. Halbarad agreed. 

Frodo could have wished for a substantial meal before they left, but knew that Faramir would never delay answering so urgent a summons. Stifling a sigh of regret, he packed his things and prepared to return to Minas Tirith. 

They traveled late that night before resting, and Frodo had a hard time sleeping. The closer they got to Minas Tirith, the more he feared arriving. 

**Chapter 8: Diplomacy or War?**

Frodo's fears continued to grow after their return to the City. Gandalf and Aragorn had met them at the Houses of Healing. Frodo had been happy to see Aragorn but shocked at the worry in his face. 

When Aragorn told him about Elrond's foreseeing and the prophecy, Frodo was shocked and bewildered. Faramir confirmed that he had the dream twice, and Boromir once, but Frodo could see no sense in it. What could he, a hobbit from the Shire, have to do with the kingship of Gondor? It made no sense. 

Nobody could make sense of that question. To add to Frodo's concern, messages from Denethor had come commanding that Faramir return to his room at the Citadel and delay returning to Ithilien to resume command. The only good thing about the messages was that they proved Denethor had not been aware of Faramir's trip to Ithilien with Frodo. 

Frodo returned to the room that he and Gandalf had been assigned. He was bored because everybody else had work to do while he had nothing. Gandalf remained in the background, neither invited to nor expected to attend the meetings at the Citadel, but he was spending more time at the Houses of Healing. 

Aragorn had suggested that they try athelas in their treatment of the patients, and Gandalf told Frodo that this treatment was the first that showed some promise. It was not a cure, but slowly, the ill stopped dying although they did not wake. Frodo asked both Lenhir and Gandalf if he could help, but they refused. The problem had never been about the lack of people to work with the patients but with the lack of knowledge. 

Frodo tried to regain some part of the original routine, visiting Shadowfax every morning, exploring gardens during the afternoons. He spent a lot of time trying to figure out the prophecy, why he should be the one to cause Elendil's sword to awaken, whatever that meant. Perhaps he needed to do some research on his own in the Archives, but that would require going to the Citadel during the day. Gandalf and Aragorn had both warned Frodo to stay out of sight of Boromir and Denethor. 

The third night after their return to the City, Frodo snuck out to meet Faramir for dinner in his rooms at the Citadel. He was just lonely enough to ignore the advice Gandalf and Aragorn had given him. Besides, he reasoned, hobbits were very good at moving quietly and avoiding notice, so this one night visit should not concern them. He left a note for Gandalf in the room, donned his grey elven cloak, and went out into the night. 

Faramir was glad to see him but seemed preoccupied, unwilling to talk, so Frodo assumed that things were not going well for Aragorn. He knew that Faramir was trying to support Aragorn's claim, against the will of his father and brother. 

Frodo left early, depressed, and started back to the room. As he left the main area of the Citadel and turned into the winding lane that would take him directly to the room, several large shapes surrounded him. Before he could call out or react, he felt a stunning blow, felt himself falling forward into blackness. 

* * * * * * * 

Aragorn woke with a start, aware of a soft knocking at his door and equally aware that it was barely dawn. Rising from the bed, he drew Narsil before going to answer the door. He moved silently on bare feet over the rugs and stone floor. 

He did not really think Denethor would try to kill him, not in the Citadel at least, but he was determined to take every precaution. He would not ruin by a moment's inattention the culmination of a dream he had been working for over six decades to achieve. 

When he opened the door, he let his sword fall. Gandalf, a faint light shining from his staff, and Faramir stood outside. Faramir, at least, looked as if he had dressed in a hurry in the dark. Gandalf's robe looked as it always did. 

"Come in," Aragorn whispered, not wanting to disturb anyone, shutting the door quietly behind them. "What is wrong?" 

"Frodo is missing," Gandalf said. 

"Since when?" Aragorn had known from Gandalf's story of Boromir's assault on Frodo that the hobbit faced danger than even Elrond had not specified. But he had not expected this. 

Gandalf nodded at Faramir, who spoke. 

"He sent me a note yesterday, asking to meet for dinner in my room last night. We did, and he left soon after to return to his room. I should have gone with him, I realize now, but. . ." Faramir sank into a chair, clenching his hands. 

Aragorn nodded, feeling guilty. He and Gandalf had warned Frodo, but they should have considered guarding him. They had all been too focused on the meetings, on the belief that Denethor--or Boromir--would not jeopardize the uneasy peace by a direct attack. They had obviously been blind. He felt his guilt slowly building to anger. 

Gandalf continued. "I was working at the Houses of Healing and lost track of time. When I came home a short while ago, I found our room empty and a note from Frodo. I went immediately to Faramir." 

"What can we do?" Aragorn's impulse was to order a full search for Frodo. He had known the hobbit nearly all his life, since Bilbo had adopted him and brought him to Bag End. He had always appreciated Frodo's interest in other times and places, in other cultures and languages, finding him unusual among the Hobbits in this respect. They had met often in the Shire and in Bree, and when Frodo started traveling with Bilbo, in Rivendell and even Mirkwood. Now, he realized just how much he cared for Frodo, and how much he wanted to do something to save him immediately. Aragorn began pacing, still gripping Narsil. 

When he turned, he saw Gandalf looking at him and flushed. Gandalf probably could see every thought he'd had. 

"We cannot do what would most satisfy you, Aragorn," Gandalf gently pointed out. "To order your men to search the City would be disastrous." 

Faramir nodded, silent. 

But Aragorn could see the grief and fear in his eyes, contained but raging within. For the first time he realized just how much Faramir loved Frodo. 

"Denethor would take such an action as a direct challenge to his authority," Faramir said. "And the Dúnedain are vastly outnumbered." 

Aragorn continued to pace, angry to find himself in such a position. He had thought it politic to come with only a few dozen companions, counting on the strength of his claim rather than arms. He had no desire to be a conqueror of Gondor. 

He wanted to heal the divide between the North and South kingdoms, reunite and renew the strength of old that had faded over time. And he'd thought that Elrond's foreseeing meant that if he came, Frodo would be safe. But prophecy can be a double-edged sword. 

"I think I must be the one to act," Gandalf said. "I can search for Frodo without it generally being known. It will take a little time, but I can determine if he is in the City." 

Aragorn realized that Frodo could have been taken away from Minas Tirith. "And if he is not?" he challenged Gandalf. 

"If he is not, I can also work on determining where he is. I have known Frodo all his life, and my knowledge of him will help. If he has been moved, my search will take more time. In the meantime, your parts will be to act as before. Aragorn, you cannot speak of Frodo because of the prophecy--to single him out in any way would be to confirm his importance. And Faramir, you cannot challenge your father or Boromir." 

Faramir looked at him, shaking with rage. Before he could speak, Gandalf spoke again, his voice low but harsh. 

"Denethor knows, and I think Boromir suspects, that you do not support them. One reason Frodo has been taken--and I do believe he has been taken, not killed--is because of the prophecy. But I believe that another reason is to control you. The only way you can help save him is to appear to submit to them utterly. Can you do that?" 

Faramir bowed his head for a moment, then looked up. Aragorn saw that he had somehow buried all his rage and pain. His carefully schooled expression showed no emotion that Aragorn could discern. Aragorn wondered what in his past experiences could have created such a skill in so young a man. 

"Good," Gandalf said. "Faramir, I think you need to return to your rooms now. You don't want to act in any way that may cause your father and brother to suspect you of working with us. In fact, if you can argue against Aragorn's claim at the next meeting, it can only help" 

Faramir nodded. "But you will let me know what you discover?" he asked in a quiet voice. 

"As soon as I know anything, I shall come to you," Gandalf promised. 

Faramir rose and left the room. Gandalf shut the door and returned to Aragorn who was still pacing up and down the room. 

"Please sit down, my dear boy. It's too early in the morning for so much activity," Gandalf said. 

Aragorn forced himself to sit, then asked Gandalf. "What did you want to tell me that you could not say in front of Faramir?" 

"Just this. I suspect that Denethor has begun to use the palantir that was in the Tower of Ecthelion. Boromir may have been drawn in as well. But I do not know if he is as corrupted as his father." 

Aragorn nodded, saying, "He seems to contradict himself in the meetings, at times supporting his father entirely, at others, seeming to acknowledge my claim. His behavior is strange." 

"Exactly," Gandalf said. "I believe his attempt to rape Frodo shows he has been affected to some degree. What I dare not tell Faramir is that I suspect both his father and brother are being consumed by Sauron." 

Aragorn nodded slowly. It made sense, and could be the answer to all the questions. 

Gandalf continued, grimly. "I am not sure whether Denethor or Boromir is behind this latest attack on Frodo. And the question is just how much they have been Shadowed, how much will of their own they retain. Both are men of strong will and would resist Sauron's domination for some time. We will need to determine just how affected they are. Perhaps you can think of a way. In any case, over the next few days, I would ask that you not pressure them any more. My first task is to find Frodo, but we also need to be considering how to call in help." 

"Very well," Aragorn said. "I will ask Elladan and Elrohir for their advice. And in future, perhaps we should arrange to meet at the Houses of Healing. I no longer trust this Citadel. It seems likely to fall from within." 

**Chapter 9: Captivity**

Frodo lay curled up on the hard bed which would have been small for a man but was spacious for a hobbit, drifting in and out of sleep. He guessed this was his third day of captivity, if he was being given two meals a day. And if the first meal had come in the morning after he was taken. 

He remembered little of his capture. The last thing he recalled was walking back to the room after having dinner with Faramir. Suddenly, several men surrounded him, and he had no chance to cry for help or run. Judging by the lump on his head, he had been struck from behind. 

The lack of food, of touch, of companionship, and most of all, the lack of access to green spaces, left him weak and in despair. His only escape lay in memory and dream. Ever since Legolas had told him about the Elves' state of waking sleep in which dream seemed to be reality and memory was nearly indistinguishable from reality, he had been fascinated with the concept. 

Hobbits did not have the ability to dream in that way, but he had practiced trying to make his dreams seem real and his memories closer to reality ever since. Now, he tried to dream a garden into reality, a garden in which he spent his days and nights with Faramir. 

It wasn't any garden he'd ever seen though. He had more than enough time to build one for himself, and he stole the best from every garden or wooded glen he'd ever seen. Sam's roses, of course, were the hedge that kept everyone else out. Exploding in the full bloom of summer, blazing crimson and gold, blushing pink, they scented the air. 

Mallorn trees surrounded the clearing, towering high but letting enough sun in for the roses. Fragrant herbs from Ithilien grew along the ground. He loved the herbs. Growing low to the ground and plain to look at, they filled the air with richness, a spiciness that complemented the sweetness of the roses. 

In the center of the garden, Faramir lay beside the small stream that ran through the clearing, the same stream that had fed the pool where they had first made love. The two rabbits lived there as well. 

As his captivity went on, Frodo seemed to sink more easily into his dream, to rouse less often. 

The door opened. Frodo heard it faintly, but refused to open his eyes or react. He'd learned early on the guards would not speak to him, so he'd given up even acknowledging their existence. They came and went twice a day with food and enough cold water for drinking and rudimentary washing. Once a day, they replaced the full chamber pot with an empty one. 

But this time was different. Only one set of footsteps entered. The guards always came in pairs, though what threat he posed he could not tell. The door closed, and Frodo felt the bed give under a heavy weight. A large, warm hand caressed his head. 

"Frodo." It was Boromir. 

Shocked from his dream, shocked at the contact, Frodo lay still, his mind racing. He should have guessed, should have been planning what to say. Who else could it have been? 

The hand moved to his shoulder, insistent, shaking. "Frodo, wake up." 

Frodo rolled over, burrowing under the covers, eyes squeezed shut, willing him to go away and leave him in peace in the garden with Faramir. 

The covers were pulled away. Hands pulled him onto his back, undid his shirt. Shuddering, Frodo tried to pull away as the hands ran over his body. The tricks Faramir had showed him were probably useless here--in a locked room with guards outside--but he could try to delay him. 

And no matter what, Frodo knew he could not lie still under this man's hands. "Stop! Please," he pleaded, opening his eyes to see Boromir leaning over him. 

"Are you ill? Have you been hurt?" Boromir sat back. 

Both his voice and, Frodo realized, his hands were much gentler than in their earlier encounter. Frodo distrusted the change, but, as he pulled his shirt around himself, he realized that he may have misunderstood Boromir's actions. 

"Nobody hurt me," he started, unsure of how much to tell. He didn't want to give Boromir any more power over him than he already had. But given the ignorance in Gondor about Halflings, Boromir and the guards may truly not have known what locking a hobbit in a closed room for days might do. 

Frodo sat up slowly, dizzy. "No, they didn't hurt me. But being locked up away from the sun, grass, the free air, inside this dead stone. For a hobbit, that is injury. In my country, we make our homes in holes in the ground, spending days outside and many nights as well." 

Frodo remembered summer nights spent camping out under the stars with Sam. "To be locked up like this weakens us." Easier to talk about hobbits in the plural than to admit his own weakness. 

Boromir looked at him, gaze steady. Frodo returned his gaze. It was the truth, or mostly the truth. The rest of it he would rather die than speak of. That hobbits were so rarely isolated from their people, from touch, companionship, talk, was another reason for his despair. 

Frodo knew that he had a greater tolerance for loneliness than many hobbits because of his years spent traveling with Gandalf. However, he wondered if the recent time of closeness with Faramir, their companionship and lovemaking, may have left him more vulnerable than he would have been in the past. Boromir didn't need to know anything more than what he had said, Frodo decided. 

Boromir stood up and went to the door, calling for the guard. Stepping outside the door, he gave orders, his voice too muffled for Frodo to hear. Returning in a few minutes, he came to the bed and lifted Frodo, who stiffened in his arms. 

"Let me walk!" Frodo said. 

"You are too weak." 

As Frodo shoved against his arms, Boromir sat down, shifting him back to the bed. "Frodo, I swear that I will do nothing unless you wish it. What I did earlier. . . was shameful. But that is not why I brought you here. Let me carry you outside, this once." 

Frodo nodded, then suffered being carried outdoors to a small courtyard with an ill tended lawn and a few struggling shrubs. A bench sat in the middle of it, and a guard stood next to it holding some chains. Frodo's hands were chained loosely behind his back, and another chain led from his ankle to the base of the heavy stone bench. 

But at least he could sit on the ground. The guard left, but Boromir remained, sitting on the bench. 

Frodo managed to turn away from him and stretch full-length on the grass, his bare chest pressed to the ground, one cheek to the earth. He felt stronger already though the neglect of this poor yard was obvious. The grass was sparse, the ground hard. Everything struggled to survive in spite of the surrounding stone, the lack of care and nourishment. But the strength of the earth and all growing things entered him, clearing his head and giving him a sense of hope. 

After a short time, Boromir spoke. "Come, Frodo, we must talk." 

Frodo did not move, did not speak. Whatever happened, he had to tell Boromir as little as possible, play stupid. Some of the men he'd talked to in the City obviously thought of Halflings as similar to their own young and were quite ready to believe that he wasn't very bright. 

"Frodo?" 

"Why?" Awkwardly, Frodo managed to roll over so he was facing Boromir. 

Boromir stood, leaned over, and pulled Frodo up. Sitting down again, Boromir positioned Frodo in front of him. "Why what?" 

"Why have you imprisoned me?" Frodo demanded. 

Boromir shifted on the bench. "It's not really prison, but--" 

"Worse, since nobody knows where I am!" 

"We need information. Everyone knows Halflings live in the North. What do you know about these Northern Rangers? The Northern Kingdom? About Aragorn?" 

Frodo felt his jaw drop. "But. . .but. . .Gandalf can tell you anything--" he stopped, realizing just how naive he was. Maybe he was stupid. "You don't trust Gandalf." And Gandalf had told him to say nothing about Aragorn while in Minas Tirith. 

But Gandalf hadn't foreseen what would happen to him. Or had he, Frodo wondered. Gandalf often did not tell you everything he knew. 

"Gandalf goes his own way, has his own purposes," said Boromir. 

Frodo shrugged and decided to try to appear helpful without saying much. "I can tell you little more than I have known Aragorn all my life, known of the Rangers and their descent from the line of the old Kings. I have never seen their kingdom," Frodo knew he was almost lying, but he made himself keep looking into Boromir's eyes. 

He knew there was no kingdom, that the old city of Annuminas beside Lake Evendim had fallen into ruin, that Fornost was known in the Shire and Bree as Deadmen's Dike, and that people feared to go there. However, he hadn't said there was a kingdom, just that he hadn't seen it. 

It couldn't hurt Aragorn if Boromir and his father thought there was a kingdom, a power in the North behind Aragorn. And, thinking of Elrond of Rivendell and Gandalf, Frodo was sure the powers in the North did support Aragorn. 

Boromir leaned forward, arms resting on his legs, eyes intent. "And the sword?" 

"Hobbits care little for tales of past wars and weapons. My uncle collects stories, so I have heard him and Gandalf talking. As far as I know, Aragorn, Isildur's Heir, carries the sword of Elendil, reforged." 

"Why is a Halfling mentioned in the prophecy?" 

"I do not know!" Frodo heard how his frustration and anger showed in his reply, but he didn't care. "I only learned about this prophecy recently, and do not understand it! It was in your dream--why shouldn't you tell me!" 

Boromir sat back, musing. "I believe you do not know, Frodo. But what from I have studied of Gondor's and Middle-earth's history, prophecies often make little sense until after the events have occurred. You are the only Halfling who has ever come to Gondor, so it must refer to you. For some reason, you are important in this dark time. That is the real reason why my--"Boromir stopped, looking away for a moment. "Never mind." 

Frodo realized that Boromir had told him something he hadn't meant to. Denethor must be the one who ordered him taken. It was all too much, too confusing for a hobbit from the Shire. Nobody there even wanted to be mayor, so the effort these men were all putting into the question of who would rule Gondor bewildered him. 

Silence. Boromir sat, legs apart and arms resting on his legs, watching Frodo, who began to feel nervous. He tried to step back, but Boromir reached out and easily picked him up. Within a breath, Frodo found himself sitting on Boromir's lap, legs dangling on either side of his, held gently but firmly by the arms. 

Boromir's voice was soft as he spoke. "My brother has never been so obedient to our father before, or to me. Though he does not know who holds you, he fears the worse. He dares not accuse or question, so his only choice is to obey. His actions show he feels great love for you, Frodo." 

Frodo shut his eyes to hide the blaze of his emotions, love, jubilation, fear for Faramir's vulnerability, for his own. He had dreamed of hearing such a declaration of love from Faramir, but hearing it by way of his brother was terrifying. 

"Even Gandalf is distracted as I have never before seen although he is little seen in the Citadel these past few days. His distraction is mostly because of you, I think. We have no lore about Halflings in Gondor apart from a few old songs shared by the Rohirrim. I would know more. . ." 

Boromir's hands ran up Frodo's arms to his shoulders, gently pushed his open shirt down over his shoulders and arms, baring his upper body. 

"I wonder at what could cause such love. . ." Boromir's hands slid down from his shoulders, over his chest, pausing to caress his nipples. One hand slid down over his stomach to rest between his legs, cupping him gently. The other hand slid around his back, drawing him closer to Boromir, sliding down inside his trousers, rubbing. 

"You swore you would do nothing to me I did not wish," Frodo accused, trying to twist away. But his feet could not reach the bench, and his arms were chained behind his back. With horror, he felt his body responding to the gentle touch of Boromir's hands. 

"Your body is saying you wish this, Frodo," murmured Boromir, his fingers caressing. 

Frodo realized with shame that the days locked away, starved of touch and companionship, had left him vulnerable to Boromir's expertise. 

Boromir leaned forward, his lips seeking Frodo's. Frodo twisted his head away, desperate to deny him something. 

"But I say I do not wish it." He gasped, trying to control his response to the skilled manipulation. 

A sudden pounding at the courtyard gate and a call for the Commander caused Boromir to stop what he was doing. Gently lifting Frodo off his lap and setting him on the bench, Boromir stood. He stopped only to caress Frodo's head and promise to return, then left. 

Frodo sat huddled on the bench until the two guards came to release him and take him back to the locked room. The next day, between his two meals, they came and took him out into the court yard again, chaining him, but leaving him in there alone for nearly an hour. 

The day after, it was for less time. The third day, not at all. Frodo realized that whatever orders Boromir may have left were not being followed. 

When Frodo tried to return to his imagined garden, he found the way blocked by Boromir. 

After that, he stopped eating. 

* * * * * * * 

When Boromir left Frodo, he'd had every intention of returning that day. But he'd given orders that they take Frodo to the courtyard daily just in case before he hurried to the Tower of Ecthelion. 

There, as before, he found his father standing over the palantir, staring raptly down, red light reflected in his eyes. 

Denethor had questioned him at length about what he learned from the Halfling, staring in the palantir the whole time almost, Boromir thought uneasily, as if he was confirming what Boromir said. 

After Boromir finished reporting, his father fell silent. 

Boromir realized that when he was not with his father, he was beginning to think that Aragorn's claim was just. Isildur had left Minas Anor to return to the Northern kingdom. All knew his fourth son had been born in Imladris and, grown, held the kingship of Arnor. This information was part of Minas Tirith's lore. Elrond's sons accompanied Aragorn, their support for him obvious. And the prophecy, along with Frodo's presence, surely confirmed that Aragorn was the rightful King of Gondor. 

While news had come of the North Kingdom's defeat by the Witch King of Angmar, there had been time enough for the kingdom to be re-established. And Aragorn carried Narsil. Frodo's information, scanty was it was, served to confirm Aragorn's standing in the North although, as Denethor pointed out, Gandalf could be forcing the Halfling to say anything. 

However, when Boromir was with Denethor in the Tower for any time, as now, his thoughts seemed to slow. He felt as if he was sinking into quicksand, cold clinging mud creeping up into his mouth and eyes. It was clear that Aragorn's claim was false, a wicked plot no doubt created by Gandalf to claim lordship over the Kingdom of Men. 

When Boromir struggled to communicate all he thought to his father, Denethor would not listen. 

This meeting ended as the two others had. Boromir had sworn to himself that he would not allow his hand to be held to the palantir again. But as before, his father moved quickly, gripping his wrist so tightly that he could feel the bones grinding together, forcing his hand, palm down, against the burning stone. The violation, both physical and spiritual, assaulted him again. 

This time when his father gave him leave to go with instructions to interrogate the Halfling again, forcing him to tell the truth by any means necessary, Boromir went directly to his rooms instead. He reached them just in time to throw up in privacy rather than in the hall. 

Afterwards, he flung himself across the bed, gripping one of the bedposts, feeling the cold sweat breaking out on his body, biting down on his lip until he bled, exercising all his will not to move, to lie there until he felt his body was his own again. 

He had meant to return to Frodo. But he would not. Not for several days. Though he didn't know what story he would tell Denethor this time. 

This was the third time his father had summoned him to the Tower, forcing him into contact with that accursed stone. Boromir now knew that some will in it was trying to force him to act. Even now, he shied away from even thinking about what the nature of that will might be. 

But he was beginning to see a pattern, one that struck fear to his heart. He had assaulted Frodo soon after the first contact. Then, after the second, he had been the one to strike Frodo down in the street. His act had been unnecessary and brutal. A Halfling could not escape from or fight three armed Men. 

Boromir cringed as he recalled the images that filled his mind as he looked at the Halfling unconscious in the street at his feet. That was why he had ordered the men to take Frodo to the abandoned house, promising them torments if they harmed him in any way, ordering them always to enter the room in pairs to watch each other. He'd waited several days before questioning him. He had told his father that Frodo was injured during his capture. 

Now, Boromir writhed on the bed, trying to fight off the images that flooded his mind. Images that he was being tempted to make into reality. 

**Frodo, broken and bleeding, lay on the ground in front of him, his helpless slave.**

**Frodo lay chained to a bed, open to Boromir's every desire.**

**Frodo crawled to him, bleeding, to beg for his love.**

**And Faramir, chained to the wall, watched and bled within.**

Boromir gripped the bedpost harder, forcing himself to lie still on the bed, feeling his fingernails tear and bleed, welcoming the pain as a way to fight the lust that raged within him. He refused to give in, refused to return to Frodo, refused to try to ease his body. 

He would not submit to this evil. 

**Chapter 10: Rescue**

After what felt like days of being lost in the dark, wandering through a land of shadows, Frodo became aware of a tall dark figure looming over him. Feebly, he tried to strike it, tried to cry out. 

A familiar voice whispered testily, "Quiet, my dear hobbit, unless you want to wake your guards!" 

Gandalf! Frodo would have wept if he could. He felt Gandalf's familiar hands wrapping him in one of the blankets. He was lifted easily and carried out the door. 

A faint light emanated from the end of Gandalf's staff, and Frodo could see the two guards, standing, sound asleep. Gandalf carried him through several hallways and down a number of stairs before leaving through a large double door which he left standing open. 

"Let them wonder," he murmured to Frodo. 

Frodo, warm in Gandalf's arms, rested his head on the wizard's shoulder. The clean night air washed over him, intoxicating and strengthening him. He slipped in and out of a healing sleep as Gandalf moved through the night. 

When Gandalf halted, tapping on a closed door with his staff, Frodo woke. He realized they were at the Houses of Healing when Lenhir opened the door, but he did not recognize this entrance. Lenhir closed the door behind Gandalf, smiled at Frodo, then led them down several halls in silence. The halls were narrow, winding, and dusty, the only light coming from Gandalf's staff. 

Finally, they entered a small room where a fire burned brightly, a covered bath and a small table set to each side of the fireplace. Double doors opened directly into the night. As Gandalf entered, a figure stood up from the bed and came forward. 

Frodo looked up to see Faramir holding his arms out. Gandalf attempted to give Frodo to Faramir, but Frodo twisted in his arms and leapt happily into Faramir's, burrowing into his body. After a long ecstatic hug, Faramir set Frodo down in at the table and pulled forward a covered tray of food. Uncovering it revealed fresh bread and butter, two large bowls of mushroom soup, and a mug of hot milk. 

Gandalf and Faramir sat down to watch Frodo eat. 

Halfway through his second bowl, Frodo slowed down a bit. "How did you find me?" he asked, buttering his sixth slice of bread. 

Gandalf sighed. "Elimination, mostly. I suspected Boromir from the first, of course, but I had to work through many of his men to discover the location where he had imprisoned you. I could not discern the information in Boromir's mind because he is being Shadowed. And I fear that so are many of the Citadel's guards." 

Faramir looked sharply at Gandalf. "Shadowed? You had not told me this! What do you mean?" 

"I did not want to tell you when you were likely to see him or talk to him. It would have been too easy for you to reveal what you knew to him or your father." 

"I understand." He looked at Frodo. "Forgive me, Frodo, for putting you at such risk." 

"I. . ." Frodo began, but was interrupted by Gandalf. 

"Nonsense," he said testily. "You may believe your feelings for each other are the most important things on Middle-earth, but your father is focused much more on Aragorn's claim and the prophecy. And furthermore. . . " 

It was Frodo's turn to interrupt Gandalf, something he rarely did. "Boromir asked me about the prophecy," he said, "and about what I knew about Aragorn's kingdom." 

Faramir and Gandalf both looked at Frodo, then at each other. 

Gandalf nodded. "You see, Faramir? I believe that Denethor and Boromir have made a foolish decision to use the palantir. And that leaves them open to the influence of Sauron. If he can force them to oppose Aragorn directly, to create war between the North and the South, he would be able to extend his influence. At the worse, he might be able to conquer the victor of such a disastrous conflict and rule supreme on Middle-earth." 

Gandalf stood. "I will have to speak to Aragorn. I don't want you to leave the Houses of Healing, Faramir. I have an idea I want to consider, and we will talk tomorrow. For tonight, stay here, and don't wander around tomorrow. This room is in one of the older buildings, not in much use now, but don't take any chances. Make sure Frodo sleeps and does not overeat." 

Frodo blushed, looking down at the empty tray. 

"And make sure that all he does is sleep and rest for at least two nights. Hobbits recover from rough treatment more quickly than most Men realize, but he spent more than a week locked in a room. In fact, if you want to sleep on the lawn, he will recover even more quickly." With that last admonition, he swept out the door. 

Frodo decided to rearrange the utensils on the tray rather than look at Faramir. 

But then two warm hands covered his. Frodo looked up and forgot his embarrassment. 

Faramir smiled at him. "Gandalf asked Lenhir to make sure there was a warm bath waiting for when you came back. Would you like one?" 

Frodo was only too eager to bathe after a week of having nothing but cold water to wash with. Faramir insisted on helping out of his clothes and into the tub. After a prolonged soak and scrub, Faramir toweled him dry, and pulled one of his own shirts out of a pack in the corner of the room. 

"Gandalf decided not to move any of your belongings out of the room in case someone noticed," Faramir explained. "So for now, you'll have to make do with something of mine." 

Frodo decided that he would protest this decision tomorrow. For tonight, he settled for rolling the sleeves up as far as they would go and sitting in front of the fire. Faramir sat down beside him. 

"What did Gandalf mean, about sleeping on the lawn? About your being locked away?" Faramir asked. 

Frodo yawned. Faramir would have to be satisfied with the short version tonight. "Hobbits live outdoors much of the time, close to the Earth. We cannot bear being locked away for any time." He shuddered at the memory of lying enclosed in dead stone, feeling his strength drain away. "Except for a few hours after Boromir understood my problem, I was locked inside a room the whole time." 

Faramir stroked his head, running fingers through his damp curls. "I hadn't known. You always seemed so strong, but, of course, we were outdoors much of the time. Wait here." 

Jumping to his feet, Faramir gathered as much of the bedding as he could in his arms and went out the open doors. He made a second trip back for the rest of it. Then he came back in and picked Frodo up. It felt so good Frodo didn't even think of protesting. Faramir carried him outside and set him down in a nest of pillows and blankets on the lawn, covering him with a blanket. 

Frodo could feel that this courtyard had been tended, cherished, even if the building that surrounded it was older and less used than others. Stars blazed overhead, and a full moon shone in the eastern sky. The scents of herbs and night-blooming flowers floated in the warm air. 

Faramir stripped off his clothes and settled down next to him, pulling him close to lie in the curve of his arm, head on his shoulder. Frodo sighed happily. 

After a few moments, Faramir spoke. "I cannot say I was glad, exactly, to hear what Gandalf said about the Nameless Enemy Shadowing Boromir, but I was relieved. We had conflicts when we were young over who had the best sword, the strongest horse, the keenest hunting dog-but this, this attempt was so unnatural. I am so sorry, Frodo, that. . . " 

Frodo reached out to lay his hand over Faramir's mouth. "Don't you remember your oath," he asked, trying to sound as stern as Gandalf in his grumpier moments. 

"Yes, but, that was before he. . ." 

"You swore by the Tree." Frodo kept his hand firmly against Faramir's mouth, so felt the warm breath of his laughter. 

"So I did, Frodo. Good night, then." 

"Good night." 

Curled up together under the stars, they soon slept. 

Next morning Frodo woke when the Sun was high enough to shine over the building walls into his eyes. He was curled up under the blanket, his back warm against Faramir, and sometime during the night, Faramir's shirt had come off. 

Feeling much stronger, Frodo sat up and turned to lean over Faramir who was still deep in sleep. He had pushed the blanket away in his sleep. Frodo sat a few moments, trying to memorize everything, amazed at how lucky he was. Then he began to kiss Faramir awake. 

Faramir's mouth opened under his, sweet and warm, but then as he woke completely, he stopped the kiss, gently holding Frodo's face between his hands. "No, Frodo. You heard what Gandalf said." 

"Hobbits recover fast." 

"No." Faramir lifted Frodo on top of him, arranging him so that Frodo's head was pillowed on his chest. The beat of Faramir's heart under his cheek, the slow powerful rise and fall of his breath, was all warmth and closeness. Frodo lay quietly for a few moments, then tried to wriggle down. It had worked before, but this time, Faramir's arms came up to hold him firmly. 

"Sleep, Frodo." Warm hands began stroking his back, up and down, but only his back. Frodo resigned himself to his fate, and relaxed under the warm Sun and hands. He enjoyed the backrub until he fell asleep again. 

They were eating breakfast when Gandalf returned. 

"Is this first or second breakfast?" he asked wryly. 

Faramir laughed. "First, technically, although I suppose it is nearer the noontime meal. But you did say Frodo was to sleep as much as he could." 

"True. Frodo, how are you feeling?" 

"Very well," Frodo said. "Much better than might be expected," he added, hopefully. 

"Good. I want you to rest another day," Gandalf said, crushing Frodo's hopes. "And then, I want you both to leave for the Riddermark." 

Frodo noticed that Faramir was as surprised as he was. Rohan! "Why?" he said. 

"Aragorn and I have prepared a letter for you to take to Théoden. Given the Shadowing of Denethor and Boromir, and how it's affecting the City, I think it would be a good idea to have an outside force, loyal to Gondor, but untainted by the palantir, available. Plus, getting you both out of Minas Tirith strikes me as a very good idea. Frodo is still at risk, and you may be as well, Faramir." 

Faramir shrugged and spread his hands in surrender. "Whatever you think best, Mithrandir." 

"I'm glad someone isn't trying to argue with me," Gandalf said, glaring at Frodo who smiled back. Gandalf must believe he was feeling better if he was willing to glare at him. 

"Shadowfax has consented to bear you both to Rohan. He should be able to bring you to Meduseld in three days. His presence will be further assurances for Théoden. Now get some more rest, and I'll bring Shadowfax to the Houses at dawn tomorrow." 

After giving his orders, Gandalf left, giving Frodo no other chance to try to persuade him that he was fully recovered. 

Frodo looked at Faramir, who was looking back at him with amusement. 

"Maybe we can have another plate of muffins before taking a nice nap outside," Faramir suggested with a smile. 

Frodo sighed and agreed. 

**Chapter 11: Politics by Any Other Name**

Boromir returned to his rooms after the long meeting. He would have some food brought to his room and then sleep. He could not face the ordeal of the public dinner which just extended the misery of the meeting to include food and music. His head ached. 

These political meetings had always exhausted him more than any training for war or even the actual battles. To sit for hours while people spoke, knowing that many were lying or deluding themselves, competing for position, able to reduce the blood of people and their lives to numbers or to marks on a map, had always been intolerable. 

But the current meetings between Denethor and Aragorn took intolerable to a whole new level. Occurring every few days with a new set of lords and nobles of Gondor, these meetings made armed warfare seem like a pleasant retreat. 

Nothing openly discourteous was ever said. Nobody ever raised his voice. Nothing new was ever, could ever, be said. Everything could only be repeated. The only reason Boromir had survived today was that for some reason Aragorn seemed willing to retreat, did not appeal to the recent set of lords from Lossarnach who had been brought in to evaluate his claim. 

Whatever the reason for Aragorn's relenting, Boromir could only be glad. Yet the tension between Aragorn and Denethor still could have turned back a sword. Elladan and Elrohir, who accompanied Aragorn everywhere in public, at least, were terrifying in their ability to project a polished courtesy overlying a lethal menace. Boromir wondered how many centuries it took to achieve that manner. 

Such meetings made him doubt he had any ability to follow his father as Steward. Of course, he thought as he opened the door, if Aragorn won the Kingship and all that he desired was achieved, then the Office of the Steward would carry much less responsibility. 

He halted in the doorway, unable to believe his eyes. 

Aragorn was in his room, leaning nonchalantly against the far wall by the narrow window. 

"Shut the door," Aragorn said. 

Boromir kept staring. As far as he could see, Aragorn bore no weapon. He wore a dark green tunic and leggings, much worn, and was not wearing the Elfstone. His face was grave. What was he doing here? 

"Boromir, unless you want all passersby to hear what we say, shut the door." Aragorn's voice was a bit louder as he repeated his earlier command. 

Boromir stepped over the stone threshold, swung the door shut behind him and, as an afterthought, threw the bolt. He didn't think he wanted anybody to walk in on what they had to say. 

He moved forward to the middle of the room. But it didn't seem to matter where he was. Aragorn commanded the room and would probably have done so in any place. 

"What do you want?" Boromir asked. 

"I want to talk to you about Frodo." 

Boromir felt himself reddening. He didn't know how Frodo had been freed from the locked room in the abandoned mansion. He'd walked through open doors to find both guards sleeping. But he was fairly sure Gandalf had been involved. 

Denethor had been angry at the news, but Boromir had to admit that he was relieved to find Frodo gone, and to learn, later, that Faramir was not in the City either. He had not told his father of his brother's absence, letting him think that Faramir had retreated to the Houses of Healing. His father did not seem to care where Faramir was in his increasing obsession over Aragorn. 

"What about him?" Boromir told himself that he didn't have to answer to Aragorn. 

"Why did you do it?" 

"Do what?" 

"Try to rape him." Aragorn's voice was steel. His eyes were pitiless as he watched Boromir. 

Boromir knew he was flushing; he could feel the blood pounding in his neck and head. His family, as did the others descended from the Númenorean houses, had the ability to discern when people were telling the truth. 

The power of Aragorn's gaze argued that Isildur's line had an even greater ability. Boromir had not been expected this question although he'd suspected that Aragorn knew he had taken Frodo captive. 

It was hard to keep looking directly into Aragorn's eyes, harder to speak, but he had to. "I--it was dishonourable, I know. But I truly cannot say why I did it. I can say I regret it." 

Aragorn's gaze softened somewhat. Boromir knew he had spoken the truth. But not all of it. He couldn't stop now. 

"I say this not to excuse myself, but to warn you." Boromir swallowed, feeling his throat dry and constricted. He forced himself to keep speaking. "I have begun to see a pattern regarding Frodo, one that concerns me. Do you know there is a palantir in the Tower of Ecthelion?" 

Aragorn nodded, silent, his eyes on Boromir's. 

Boromir continued. "Denethor has been using it. Three times, he has summoned me to the Tower. There. . ." Boromir closed his eyes, fighting to speak. He could feel the black will stirring within him, cold mud rising in his throat, trying to stop him from telling Aragorn what had happened. 

"He. . it. . ." his throat closed, he fought for breath, strangling. 

Aragorn stepped forward, his hands settling on Boromir's shoulders. The warmth and strength of his body surrounded Boromir. The pressure eased. He could breathe. 

"There, each time, he forced my hand onto the burning stone. Something . . .in the stone. . .something evil. . I could feel it, in my body and mind." Boromir shuddered at the memory. "After each of the first two times, I. . . assaulted Frodo. The first time on the battlements," he looked at Aragorn. 

Aragorn nodded. 

"The second time, I struck him, for no reason, when we took him captive." Boromir forced himself to confess the rest. "The third time, I found myself imagining, no, not imagining, but seeing, being tempted by, such vile things that I forced myself not to return, not to question him as Denethor ordered. I did not go back for nearly three days, and then I found Frodo missing, the guards asleep." 

He held his hands out, cold and shaking, seeing the still raw and broken nails where he had clawed the bedpost. "I truly do not think he would have survived had I gone to him. I have not gone back to the Tower since, Aragorn. I dare not." 

Aragorn released Boromir's shoulders, took his hands gently. Heat flashed through Boromir's body, he felt as if he was bathed in a white light that did not burn. 

When Aragorn released his hands, Boromir almost fell. 

Aragorn supported him, then gestured to where two chairs were arranged before the fire. "Shall we sit?" 

Boromir, exhausted, nodded, sank into the nearest one. Aragorn brought him wine. When Boromir held out his hand for the glass, he saw his fingers were healed on that hand--and on the other as well. His hands shook, and Aragorn set the glass on the arm of the chair for him. 

Aragorn sat in the other chair with his own glass of wine. He raised it to Boromir. "I believe you, and honor your victory, Boromir." 

Boromir stared at him. He had done shameful things. "How can you say that?" 

"You have resisted the will of Sauron," Aragorn said. "Not completely, but you did not let him force you into a great evil, the torture and murder of an innocent. Frodo is safe, but had you not resisted, who knows what would have been the result. At the very least, I believe Faramir would have tried to kill you which could have led to open war. War between us, between your father and me, or your brother and you, is his goal. Such conflict would make him stronger." 

Boromir started to hear the Name so directly stated. They never said his Name in Gondor, using euphemisms like the Nameless Enemy. Perhaps they should have named him directly, he thought, to remind themselves. 

Aragorn continued. "One of the Seven Stones of Númenor resided in Minas Ithil. Gandalf and I have discussed the possibility that, when Sauron took over that city and turned it into a place of dread, he acquired the Stone. All the Stones are connected. Anyone looking into one of the Stones would thus be drawn into communication with Sauron." 

Aragorn paused to sip some wine. "Gandalf and I believe that your father is being consumed by Sauron, falling under his power more every time he uses the Stone. We also suspect that he may be using it to affect others, perhaps even that the unknown illness affecting the City is related. Gandalf knew you were being Shadowed, Boromir. That is why I came to you, to learn if you were completely under Sauron's power or if you were resisting. How often do you think your father looks into the Stone?" 

"He has been using it daily for some time now," Boromir said. "I believe you are right." He picked up the glass of wine and drained it, pouring another from the bottle Aragorn had placed on the floor between them. "I am not sure what to do." He felt helpless, the unfamiliar feeling making him feel even more useless. 

"Gandalf has sent for help, from Rohan. I thought that you might be willing to go to Ithilien to bring at least some of the Rangers back. I imagine they have been far from the City since he began using the Stone. It is not likely he could have affected them as he has some of the Citadel guards." 

Boromir nodded. The plan was a good one. He had commanded in Ithilien before Faramir. The men would follow him. "I will leave tomorrow, although I do not know what my father will think." 

Aragorn smiled. "I think we may be able to convince him that you are suffering from some illness and had to be taken to the Houses of Healing. Gandalf has been working closely with one of the Healers there. The only problem would be if Denethor insisted upon visiting you." 

Boromir shook his head, "I do not think he will do that. He rarely leaves the Citadel anymore. It's as if he does not want to be far from the Tower." 

Aragorn stood easily. "Then let us go to the Houses of Healing. I am sure that you should be put directly into a sickbed, for the sake of your health! I do not want your father to see you. We will have to speak to Gandalf, to coordinate your arrival with the Rangers from Ithilien with the forces he has requested from Rohan." 

Boromir nodded, rising. He realized he was so numb that he hadn't even reacted to the news that Gandalf had sent messages to the Riddermark. Dully, he looked around the room, wondering if he should take anything with him. But he could almost see the evil that had nearly consumed him. He would get supplies for his journey at the Houses of Healing. 

They walked out into the warm night air, moving quickly through the streets, anonymous figures. 

Boromir followed Aragorn down the familiar lanes, not really noticing where they were going. He was exhausted but also excited, and a little fearful. So much had happened in so short a time. For the first time in his life, he felt unsure of his ability to do what was needed. 

When they reached the Houses of Healing, Aragorn led him around to an unfamiliar side entrance. Aragorn knocked softly, and a Healer opened the door, holding a candle. The Healer and Aragorn spoke softly together for a few minutes, then the Healer gestured for them to follow him down several hallways, into a small room. 

The Healer set the candle on the table and left them. Boromir stood with his back to the door, watching Aragorn who stood in the center of the room. 

"It's small, but at least it's removed from the main buildings where the patients suffering from the unknown illness are housed. Gandalf is not sure how the disease is transmitted, but there's no need to take a risk. You and I can talk with Gandalf tomorrow, before you leave." 

Boromir nodded, saying nothing, shifting his gaze to the floor. As the elder brother, he had always had to be the strongest, he thought dizzily. 

He was only ten when their mother Finduilas died. But he had held Faramir, who was only five, in his arms while his brother wept, commanding himself not to cry. He had lived up to or exceeded every one of Denethor's expectations, and tried to protect Faramir in those earlier years when he could not. He had helped him with extra weapons training and practice until his brother grew to be an accomplished warrior, the warrior their father and the City demanded. 

Tonight, in the exhaustion left by his confession and Aragorn's healing, he realized that he had resented having to be the strongest. And he saw clearly how his own jealousy at the happiness Faramir and Frodo felt had grown. He felt he had nothing. 

He had no doubt he had been Shadowed by Sauron, but how open had he been to that Shadowing? Had he invited it? Was he still at risk? He wanted to talk to someone, someone who could be the strongest for a while. 

Realizing suddenly that he had just been standing there for who knew how long, staring at the floor, he looked up at Aragorn who was standing in silence, looking at him. Boromir felt his gaze not as a weapon this time, but as an invitation to ask for what he needed. 

Boromir moved unsteadily from the support of the door to the table, pinching out the candle. The room was dark. The darkness this time felt gentle, kind, the kind of darkness he used to find in his room after his mother had put them to bed and blown out the candles. 

He could speak to this darkness, to the warm strength beside him. 

"I am afraid." For a moment he paused, waiting for the punishment that had always followed any confession of weakness. Nothing happened. 

"I am afraid that Sauron's will may still take me, that I somehow invited it." Boromir closed his eyes even in the dark, feeling his heart pound, not knowing what to ask for. He stood in the dark, shaking and alone, then felt Aragorn's hands on his shoulders again. 

"Let me help you," he breathed, pulling Boromir close. They were of an equal height, Boromir realized, as their lips met. He had thought Aragorn taller. 

As before, Aragorn's touch called forth fire. 

But this fire was different. It raged inside Aragorn and reached out to Boromir. Boromir opened his mouth to breathe it in, reached out his arms to pull Aragorn even closer, straining his body against the other's. He wanted to consume and be consumed. Aragorn's arms circled him. 

Boromir felt the same exultation that had come at times during practice with an opponent who was his equal, even once or twice on the battlefield. The exultation when two powers contend, each confident in their own strength, each loving the battle more than the result, taking joy in the contest rather than the outcome. 

He sensed the power before him was potentially much stronger than he, but it was controlled now, matching him. He knew he could test it as much as he wished, press harder, and it would never fail. 

Dimly, Boromir realized that Aragorn was undressing him, they were moving to the bed. He was naked under Aragorn's body. He arched under Aragorn's hands, calloused and strong as a warrior's but gentle as a Healer's, which were stroking him. 

Fire trailed over his body, and Boromir opened himself entirely to those hands, begging without words because no words were necessary. Aragorn understood his desire to be filled, completed, healed, as he had never been before. 

As Aragorn entered him, Boromir closed his eyes, focusing on his growing pleasure. Suddenly, behind his eyelids, instead of darkness, he saw the dead Tree in the Courtyard, the Tree that had been dead for over a century before he was even born, transformed. 

Leaves opened, dark above and silver below, and white flowers bloomed, blazing in the Sun of a new day. Light exploded through Boromir and he cried out, becoming the Tree for a timeless moment, feeling life swelling within as he was drenched in life-giving rain, yearning to create a new life. 

Boromir saw a sapling spring up in a waste of stones, crowned by one blossom of white. He opened his eyes in the dark room, seeing moonlight shining through the window onto the floor. He was held in Aragorn's arms. He could feel he was Healed and no longer needed to fear Sauron's will or any darkness. 

"What do you wish for your City and people, Boromir?" asked Aragorn. 

Boromir turned to look into his King's eyes. "I wish for you to Heal the City and people as you have healed me, my brother, my Captain, my King." 

Aragorn kissed him on the brow. "Then sleep, for tonight, and tomorrow, we will strive to make your wish come true." 

**Chapter 12: The Ride to Rohan**

Shadowfax halted as the Sun sank below the western peaks of the Ered Nimrais, the White Mountains that ran from East to West. The silver peaks glowed in the last light. 

Shaking his head and pawing the ground, Shadowfax indicated that they should stop for the night. Frodo knew from experience that Shadowfax could easily have traveled further. But he appreciated the horse's sensitivity to Faramir's pain. 

And his intelligence. They had stopped in Anorien, near a small stream and a grove of trees. There would be water and firewood here, and the lush green grass was all Shadowfax needed. Faramir would probably need something more, though. 

The problem was that Faramir was used to traveling by foot. Although he could ride, and often did, as when they had traveled to Ithilien, he was trained to ride a horse with a saddle and bridle. Not to mention going at a much slower speed, Frodo reflected, as he encouraged Faramir to dismount. Riding Shadowfax who would allow no bit or saddle took some rather different skills, or perhaps just different conditioning. 

Groaning, Faramir managed to swing his leg back and around, then more or less slid down Shadowfax's side. He managed to stand, but he was leaning against Shadowfax's warm side rather than standing on his own. 

Frodo, who had vivid memories of the pain after his first time riding Shadowfax all day, deftly slipped off the other side. Shadowfax stood like a rock supporting Faramir until Frodo was able to come to his side, slipping an arm around his waist, and encouraging him to try moving. Frodo knew he could not support Faramir's full weight for any length of time, but he could get him seated. 

"Come on, just a step or two, and you can sit down." 

Faramir settled to the ground, shedding the pack that held their supplies. Rather than sitting, he stretched out full-length on the soft grass. 

"How do you do it, Frodo?" he asked. "That was the most. . . amazing experience. But I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get up on him again." 

"Just like everything else," Frodo said, starting to rummage through the pack. "Practice. The first time Gandalf took me along on one of his all day and all night rides, I thought I was going to die before it was over. Part of it is Shadowfax's speed. But even more important is what a rider has to do or, rather, not do. On a horse or pony, a rider works to stay on the animal's back and to direct it. Learning ride that way is hard until you're used to it. Shadowfax, though, goes where he knows you must, and it's his job to keep you on his back. Gandalf told me that if he consents to bear you, you'd have to jump off. I think the problem is that you kept tensing up because of the speed and, perhaps. . ." Frodo paused, not wanting to offend Faramir. 

"Perhaps?" Faramir prompted him. 

"Your reaction to not being in control. You just have to learn to relax. Trust Shadowfax and, well, enjoy the ride." 

Faramir groaned again. "I shall either learn that or die," he declared. "Right now, dying seems most appealing." 

Frodo covered him with one of the blankets Gandalf had packed. "You'll feel better after you eat," he said. 

He found that Gandalf had shared the lembas which he always carried. Frodo sighed. When he'd seen the size of the pack Gandalf had prepared, he was afraid that it was going to be lembas all the way. Well, he could still build a fire. 

"I'm going to get firewood and water," he told Faramir, who raised himself, wincing, on his good arm. 

"I should help," he started to say. 

"Nonsense. You can barely move. You rest. Nothing can happen to me with Shadowfax here." And indeed, the beautiful white horse was standing by Frodo, ready to escort him. Frodo knew that he would also guard them during the night. 

"Very well," Faramir sank back to the ground. "In truth, I doubt I could move even if a band of Orcs came over the hill." 

Later, Frodo sat by a crackling fire, sharing a meal of lembas with Faramir who was fascinated by the taste and the nature of elven waybread. 

Frodo, who had eaten enough of it to become somewhat disenchanted, only half listened to his praise. Yes, he had to admit, it was flavourful, but it just didn't satisfy the stomach like a nice plate of fried potatoes, sausages, eggs, and bacon. 

Lost in memories of Sam's cooking, he did not notice immediately when Faramir stopped talking. When the silence made itself apparent, he looked up to see Faramir trying to stand, wincing. 

"Don't try to move too much," he said, hastily. "Look, Gandalf included a pot of his herbal salve. I'm sure he knew you'd need it. I set it by the fire to warm. If you let me massage it in, you'll feel much better by morning." 

Faramir nodded. "I believe you, Frodo, and as soon as I can take care of some private business, you can apply as much salve as you want!" He limped off. 

While Frodo waited for him to return, he spread Faramir's blanket as near the fire as he could. 

When Faramir returned, he helped him undress and stretch out on the blanket. 

Frodo knelt over him, dipped his hand into the pot, and pulled out a dollop of the pleasantly scented salve. He began rubbing it in to Faramir's shoulders and upper arms. As Frodo moved down Faramir's body, he could feel the muscles relaxing. 

He massaged salve into every inch of Faramir's body that he could reach, spending extra time soothing the quivering muscles of his thighs and legs. 

After he finished, Frodo sat down beside Faramir, who opened his eyes, and smiled at him. "That was wonderful. I think I've decided to live. Although I suppose I'll have to get on Shadowfax again tomorrow?" 

"I'm afraid so," Frodo said. "And again the next day. It took us three days to travel from Meduseld to Minas Tirith." 

"I know it takes the errand riders of Gondor at least five days from Minas Tirith to Edoras," Faramir said slowly. "Shadowfax's speed is amazing." 

Faramir reached his hand out, and Frodo took it. They sat for a while. Then Faramir rolled over on his side, tugging at Frodo's hand, who slipped down to lie next to him. Surrounded by the scent of smoke and crushed grass, Frodo reveled in the sense of energy and connectedness he always felt outdoors and in the touch of Faramir's lips. 

Faramir started to unbutton his shirt. But just as Faramir leaned over, he cried out and froze. 

Frodo reached up to support him the best he could. 

"I'm sorry, Frodo," Faramir gasped, sinking back to the ground. "My back. . . ." 

"Lie back down," Frodo said, and pulled the salve out again. "Flat on your stomach," he said, seeing Faramir was still lying on his back. "Oh," he realized why Faramir might find that less than comfortable. "On your side, then?" 

"I'll try," Faramir said, maneuvering cautiously. Frodo moved around him, sitting where he could reach his back. 

"Where does it hurt?" 

"Lower and middle of my back," Faramir said tersely as he rolled over, sweat breaking out on his skin from the pain. 

Frodo realized that something under his hips might help, and rolled their cloaks together. "Here, can you raise up a bit?" 

Faramir bit back a curse, but did so, and Frodo pushed the cloaks under his hips from the side, then started massaging in more salve. Again, he felt the tense muscles relax as he kneaded Faramir's back. 

Frodo massaged Faramir's back for some time, then moved a bit lower, his hands circling on the pale skin and red-gold hair gleaming in the firelight. The night sky darkened, and stars began to appear. 

Finally, Faramir spoke, his voice slow and deep. 

"Frodo?" 

"Yes?" 

"My back is feeling much better..." 

"I'm glad," Frodo said. 

"But there's something else you're going to have to help me with." 

"What?" He wondered if Gandalf had packed enough medical supplies. 

"What do you think," a hint of laughter gleamed in Faramir's voice, and he spread his legs. 

"Oh!" Frodo suddenly remembered. "But your back. . ." he didn't want Faramir to injure himself. 

"Yes, well, I'm not planning to move that much or put any strain on my back. I'm planning to lie right here and let you make love to me." 

"Oh," Frodo said again, feeling his breath start to quicken. Between Gandalf's stern instructions for his recovery and the time Frodo had been captive, it had been nearly two weeks, the morning before they had left Ithilien, since they had made love. And this would be the first time he made love to Faramir this way. He felt himself beginning to harden at the thought. 

Frodo smoothed one hand down Faramir's back, then leaned down to kiss his shoulder. "Just a minute," he whispered, and stood to undress. He dropped his shirt on the ground and stepped out of his trousers, moving to kneel between Faramir's legs. 

He reached up as far as he could and ran his hands down over Faramir's back, side, thighs, and legs. He repeated this motion several times, feeling a different tenseness building in Faramir's body, in his own. Leaning over, he ran his hands up the front of Faramir's legs, under his body, to rub and caress him. He swept his hands back up and over Faramir's rear, tracing the soft cleft with his thumbs. 

Faramir moaned. "Frodo, now!" 

Moving forward, Frodo probed gently, not sure of the angle of penetration. His fingers slipped inside, and he exulted in the warmth, then, leaning over, slowly, he sank into Faramir's body, his hands reaching out to either side, his legs wide, bracing against Faramir's. 

Slowly at first, then faster and harder and deeper, encouraged by Faramir's response, Frodo explored this new sensation, this new way of connection. 

Then all conscious thought dropped away as he felt Faramir's body convulse beneath him just before his own exploded in delight, waves of sensation radiating out into the night. Collapsing onto Faramir's body, he lay a while, exulting in the warmth and relaxed softness of the flesh beneath him. 

When he could move again, he found Faramir had already fallen deep into sleep. He managed to cover them both with his blanket and went to sleep curled up beside him. 

In the morning, Faramir declared that his back was better. He had less trouble riding Shadowfax that day and no trouble at all making love to that evening. 

* * * * * * * 

They arrived at Edoras as the Sun was setting the third evening. From afar, they could see the gold of Meduseld, set high on a hill, shining in the level rays of the setting sun. 

Shadowfax bore them proudly through the gate where the guards, recognizing first Shadowfax and then Frodo, waved them through. Shadowfax climbed the hill to the hall's main entrance. There they were met by Hama, who requested Faramir to lay aside his weapons. He escorted them into the hall where the evening meal was in progress. 

Frodo was thrilled to find they were in time to join the meal, and ate at least three helpings of everything they were offered. The Rohirrim were not as good a cooks as hobbits, of course, but several days of subsisting entirely on lembas left him more than happy to enjoy their food. 

Afterwards, Théoden called them forward. 

"I know your brother, Boromir," he told Faramir, "and, of course, have long known Frodo here. I am glad to meet you." 

"Thank you, sire," Faramir said, bowing his head. "And I am glad to have the chance to visit Rohan and its fair green fields. I am only sorry that I come with such heavy news." He handed Gandalf and Aragorn's letter to Théoden. 

Opening it, Théoden read the letter several times, then looked up with a frown. "I think we need to speak privately. Come with me." He rose and led them out of the hall, past the richly carved pillars, past many richly decorated hangings, most featuring horses. They entered a smaller room. 

Théoden sat with a weary sigh, gesturing for them to sit as well. "This is dark news," he said. "I had not thought to see such trouble in my time. I will need to speak to Théodred, my son, and Éomer, my sister's son. Rohan is an ally of Gondor. In long ages past, we have always upheld our sworn oath to come to Mundberg's aid when needed. But this . . .conflict, this chance of war between those who should be allies, disturbs me. There is great evil at work here, and I am loath to leave my land undefended." 

For some time, he questioned Faramir and Frodo concerning the events detailed in the letter. Finally, he let them retire, asking them to attend him after the meeting tomorrow. 

Frodo was relieved to find that the meeting the next day was brief. Éomer and Théodred were both friends of Aragorn and had known Gandalf their whole lives. They trusted them enough to bring their men to Gondor. 

Within a few hours, messengers were riding out to summon the Riders to a muster the next day. Théoden promised Faramir and Frodo that the companies under the Second and Third Marshalls would ride out the next day for Minas Tirith. They estimated the Rohirrim would arrive at the City soon after dawn of the fifth day. 

Faramir and Frodo thanked him and prepared to return to Minas Tirith. When Théoden offered them more supplies for their return journey, Frodo was quick to accept. By late afternoon, they were on their way back to Gondor 

**Chapter 13: The Fall of the Steward**

Frodo and Faramir were sitting in the rose garden at the Houses of Healing, near the fountain. The sun was just setting, the last light of day jeweling the falling drops of water. 

They'd returned to Minas Tirith the evening before and had sent Gandalf a message telling him of their success. Then, they'd just waited. Neither knew quite what to expect. Gandalf had sent a message back, warning them against being seen in the City. 

After the arduous trip, both had spent most of the day resting, and then they'd eaten their evening meal. Now they were just sitting quietly, watching to see the first star come out, appreciating the absolute peace. 

That was when the Citadel guards came through the gate. Frodo felt Faramir stiffen beside him as he saw them. 

"Captain Faramir," the lead one said. "Lord Denethor summons you to the Citadel." 

Faramir stood easily, standing between Frodo and the men. Frodo counted at least ten of them. 

"I wonder that so many are needed to deliver this message. However, I will accompany you immediately," Faramir said. 

"The Halfling too." 

Frodo saw Faramir's hand drop to his sword. 

Frodo stood quickly and said, "Very well." He walked forward to Faramir's side. 

Frodo could tell that Faramir was considering attacking them and was relieved when he removed his hand from the sword and walked forward. 

The men closed around them as if escorting prisoners, taking them through the halls of the House and into the street. As they left through the main entrance, Frodo saw Lenhir just coming out of a doorway that Frodo knew led to one of the wings where recovering patients were housed. The Healer stopped when he saw the group of armed men, then backed away cautiously. 

Frodo concentrated on keeping up with the Men. Lenhir would find Gandalf, he knew. But how long would it take? 

As they walked, the guards' boots echoed in the calm air. They turned into one of the smaller lanes that led directly toward the Citadel. It was a little darker in the narrower lane, but some light still lingered. 

Faramir's move took Frodo by surprise. Flinging himself at two of the men behind them, Faramir knocked them over, shouting at Frodo to run. 

After a shocked moment, Frodo did his best. He dashed for the gap in the line. 

A large hand clutched at his shirt, but he managed to pull free. Faramir was on his feet again, sword in hand. 

Another man loomed up in front of Frodo, and he ducked, pivoted, and kicked as Faramir had taught him. Amazingly, it worked, but as he tried to run out of the lane, he felt a heavy body hit him from behind, flinging him forward. 

He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to himself, he realized he was being held in a crushing grip against a man's body. A thin line of pain burned at his throat, and the man holding him was shouting at Faramir. 

Frodo blinked, clearing his eyes, and could see Faramir had managed to wound two of the men and was holding the others at bay. They milled around, probably reluctant to rush the son of the Steward. 

"Faramir! If you want to save the Halfling, surrender!" The man holding him had a knife at his throat, Frodo realized, and was pushing him forward to where Faramir could see his plight. 

As soon as Faramir saw Frodo, he stopped fighting. The guard closed around him, taking his sword, holding him by the arms. The man holding Frodo walked in front, the knife firmly at his throat, separating Frodo from Faramir. Slowly, the mass of the Citadel looming over them, they completed their journey. 

They entered the Citadel by a route unfamiliar to Frodo that led them directly to the base of the Tower of Ecthelion. They forced Frodo and Faramir up the stairs and into the large room at the top. 

There, they tied Faramir to a heavy wooden chair, lashing his arms and legs tightly. They tied Frodo's hands behind his back, and tied him to one of the chair's legs. Then, without a word, they left. 

Darkness grew in the room faded as the Sun disappeared behind the White Mountains. 

Frodo's only comfort was that his back was resting against Faramir's leg. He wriggled, testing the ropes, but they were tight. He could feel Faramir doing the same. 

He wasn't sure he dared tell Faramir that Lenhir had seen them taken. Someone could be listening. 

"Faramir," he whispered. 

"Don't speak, Frodo," Faramir's voice was gentle, but held an inflexible note Frodo had never heard before. 

Shivering, he leaned his head back against Faramir's leg and tried to steady his breathing. Surely Gandalf would arrive soon. 

He became aware that even though the sky outside the narrow windows was dark, a light of sorts was growing in the room. Pulsing red, the light seemed to come from within the room, not from without, and to be centered across the room on a high table. 

He couldn't help asking. "What is it?" 

"The palantir." 

Frodo had been afraid of that. As the light seemed to flicker higher, the room chilled and Shadows crept out of the walls. 

Frodo heard footsteps approaching. Closer and closer they came, and then, after a pause, the door opened. 

Denethor entered the room, wearing formal robes like the ones he had worn to welcome Gandalf. He shut the door behind him and walked to Faramir's side. 

Frodo could feel Faramir tensing as his father leaned over him. 

"You tried to betray me, Faramir," Denethor said. "I have seen as much in the palantir. I know the wizard brought the Halfling here to use again us. But it's not too late. You can still join us, help save the City from the Northern usurper. I have seen what we must do." 

"What is that, father?" Faramir sounded polite, deferential. 

"If the Halfling is removed, the plot will fail. If we give him to the palantir, the City will be saved. I have seen it." 

"Father, Lord Denethor," Faramir's voice gained urgency as he strained forward. "Believe me, the palantir is utterly evil. It is controlled by Sauron. You must. . ." 

Frodo flinched as he heard the ringing slap and felt the impact run through Faramir's body. 

"Fool! Wizard's boy! He has corrupted you, taken you, and turned you against your father and your City. One last time--will you join me, will you take the Halfling to the palantir?" Denethor's voice rang harshly in the room. 

The Shadows crept higher. 

"No." Faramir's voice met his, steel to steel. 

"Very well. First him, and then you. A defiant son is of no use to me." 

Denethor stooped, and Frodo flinched as he saw the knife gleaming red. Denethor cut the rope that held him to the chair leg and pulled him roughly to his feet. Pushing Frodo ahead of him, Denethor began shoving him across the room. 

Frodo fought him every step of the way, kicking, twisting, and trying to throw him off balance. Inexorably, held in an iron grip, he was forced across the room to the table which loomed over his head. 

The sickly light had grown during their struggle, and the red flames lashed across the room, driving the Shadows higher. 

Quickly, Denethor slashed the ropes that bound his wrists behind his back, dropped the knife, and hauled Frodo up, balancing him awkwardly on the table, grabbing for his wrist. The palantir blazed before Frodo's eyes, and he saw blackness and flame, a winged shape, and then behind the wings, a blazing Eye opened, the slit of the pupil a gateway into total blackness. 

Frodo tried to roll over and off the table, desperate to escape from the hunger in the Eye, a hunger that could consume all of Middle-earth and not be satisfied. Denethor managed to grab his wrist. 

"Father! No!" Faramir shouted. 

Denethor ignored his shout, but could not ignore the noise that echoed through the room when the door slammed open. Frodo gasped in relief as Denethor turned away from the table, still clutching him by the wrist, holding him around his ribs, but turning away from the palantir. 

Boromir stood in the doorway, arms crossed. His blue eyes shone in the hectic light. "Do you need my help, Father?" he asked. 

Frodo despaired. 

* * * * * * * 

Boromir stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to disguise how hard he was breathing. 

When Lenhir had found Gandalf and told him of Faramir and Frodo's capture, Gandalf had come directly to the abandoned house near the first wall where Boromir had been staying since he returned from Ithilien. 

Boromir had left the Rangers in Osgiliath, but he had not wanted to be that far from the City. They had hurried to Aragorn's room, finding him with Elladan and Elrohir, having just returned from the evening meal. 

They could report that Denethor had left before the meal was entirely over. 

Everyone agreed that Denethor would have the two in the Tower, with the palantir. But Aragorn had wanted to go in as a group to rescue them. Boromir had argued with him. He told Aragorn he should go in first, convince his father he was still an ally, rather than have them try a direct assault which could put one or both of the captives at risk. 

"My father may look old," he said, urgent in his need to convince them, but he has worn armor beneath his robes for years, even sleeping in it nights. He could kill Frodo in a moment, or Faramir if he hesitated." 

They had believed him, so here he was. In the place he'd never wanted to see again. But it was up to him. Aragorn had contributed one other element to the plan, but Boromir had to make sure it all worked. 

"Do you need my help, Father?" he asked, strolling into the room, swinging the door shut behind him to cover the others' approach. 

He tried to sound as if the sight of his brother tied to a chair and his father wrestling a Halfling was completely normal. "The Healers have released me, so I came to you." He held his breath. Denethor had to believe him still under the influence of the palantir. "What are you doing?" 

"I have seen that the wizard's plot will fail if the Halfling goes to the palantir. He could have chosen to help me, but refused. So he'll go next. He has been corrupted by the wizard. He cares nothing for the City." Denethor's voice was harsh, growling. 

In the Shadowed room with the flames reaching higher, Boromir thought his face looked like a wild beast's. Boromir felt a distant sorrow. His father had been completely consumed by Sauron. There was nothing left of the man he had once known and loved to the extent he had been allowed. 

Boromir nodded. "I see. Very well. Would you like me to bring him to you? Would it not be better to give them both to the palantir at once?" 

Denethor paused, then nodded, retaining his grip on Frodo who looked in despair at Boromir. 

Boromir could see a similar expression on Faramir's face and fought to keep his voice cold. "May I borrow your knife, Father?" he asked, seeing it lying near Denethor's foot. 

Denethor kicked it toward Boromir who picked it up in his right hand, flipping it in the air. He went to the chair, standing so that his body was between Faramir and Denethor, blocking his father's view. 

"Well, my dear brother," he said loudly, bending over him. "You look quite fetching. Too bad we don't have more time. Come along, now." He opened his left hand and showed Faramir he was wearing the silver ring which Aragorn always wore and which he had entrusted to him as a token. 

"Gandalf and Aragorn are just outside," he breathed. He could see Faramir's shock, his yearning to believe, as he looked up into Boromir's eyes. "Follow my lead," he whispered. Faramir nodded, silent. 

"Don't move or I'll cut your throat," he said loudly. He braced one arm against Faramir's throat as he sliced through the ropes around his legs, then his arms. Boromir pulled him briskly from the chair, spinning him around, circling his chest with one arm and holding the knife to his throat. He began to push Faramir across the room. 

Denethor, seeing Faramir apparently passive in Boromir's arms, turned back to the palantir. 

"Now," Boromir whispered in Faramir's ear, shoving him at Denethor and throwing the knife at the palantir. 

He saw his brother translate the shove into a leap that took him crashing into Denethor from behind. They hit the floor, Frodo flying from Denethor's arms. 

The knife hit the palantir directly, and it rolled off the table. The palantir hit the floor with a ringing sound that Boromir could have sworn caused the Tower to sway as if hit by a storm and which did cause the table to fall over. 

Denethor shrieked as Boromir shouted, "Now!" 

The palantir seemed to explode with light, snarling Shadows clawing at Frodo as it rolled across the floor toward him. He lay unmoving where he had fallen. 

"Edro!" cried Gandalf, and the door burst apart in a flare of white light that flooded the room. 

Gandalf entered, his staff blazing in a white fury that beat back the Shadows. Behind him, Aragorn stood, silhouetted against the Light. Elladan and Elrohir were behind Aragorn, still on the stairs, shining figures of light that breached the boundaries between worlds. 

Boromir blinked as he seemed to see them hold a vast and shadowy figure back, keeping it from crossing into the Tower room. 

Denethor and Faramir were rolling across the floor, Boromir saw, but Frodo still had not moved, unconscious of the palantir's attack. Boromir threw himself between the hobbit and the palantir, pulling Frodo to him. 

A searing pain roared through his back. He flinched, lurching to his feet, holding Frodo in his arms, turning to face the palantir, half blinded by the pulsing red light. 

Like a bolt of lighting, the flaming sword of Elendil descended on the palantir. With a roar that shook the Tower and, Boromir felt, the City itself, the Stone exploded. 

Boromir felt himself falling and tried to protect Frodo. 

Denethor threw Faramir off and leaped to his feet. 

Faced by Gandalf and Aragorn flanked by two High Elven Lords, Denethor hesitated, backing away. Boromir saw him reach one of the narrow windows. 

Gandalf cried his name as he thrust himself through the narrow window, but there was no response. With a long shriek, the Steward of the City fell. 

Silence fell in the Tower room. 

Boromir rose to his feet, still holding Frodo. Crossing the room to where Faramir had struggled to his feet, he placed Frodo in Faramir's reaching arms. Then, staggering a bit, he went to Aragorn's side, taking the ring from his finger, placing it in the warm hand, seeing the love and approval shining in his King's eyes. 

**Chapter 14: Coronation & Celebrations**

Frodo woke slowly. Finding himself in a large bed, he at first feared he was still held by Boromir, that what he could remember was part of a long and terrifying dream. But there was sunlight in the room unlike the one in which he had been imprisoned. 

"Where am I?" he murmured. 

"In the Houses of Healing, Frodo," a beloved voice replied. 

Faramir knelt by the bed and put his arms around Frodo who was so surprised he could hardly breathe. Then, feeling the warmth of Faramir, Frodo clung to him, weeping, not sure he could believe he was really there. "What happened?" he asked. "I remember Boromir coming in, but. . ." Try as he might, he could not remember much after that, only the feeling of complete despair he'd had when he saw Boromir enter the Tower and offer to help his father. 

"He saved us, Frodo. Gandalf and Aragorn as well as Elladan and Elrohir were just outside the door, but Boromir insisted on coming in first. He thought he could deceive Denethor," Faramir's voice broke on the name, but he went on. "Boromir was afraid that if they just attacked, Denethor could kill one of us. He wasn't our father any more. He'd been completely consumed by Sauron." 

Boromir saving them! Frodo wasn't sure he could believe his ears. 

"Awake, are we?" Gandalf came into the room, followed by Aragorn. 

Faramir released Frodo and stepped back, allowing first Gandalf and then Aragorn to hug Frodo. 

Then Gandalf waved both the Men away so he could examine Frodo. After a brief examination, he stepped back, smiling. 

"You're doing very well, my dear hobbit. I was afraid the Shadows had affected you, but Aragorn's Healing has left you in good shape." 

Frodo wriggled up on the pillows, shoving the sleeves of the too-long nightshirt up. "Then will somebody please tell me what's happened and what it all means!" 

They took it in turns, Gandalf and Aragorn pulling up chairs, Faramir sitting on the end of the bed. 

He had been unconscious for several days, missing the arrival of the Rohirrim and the Rangers of Ithilien not to mention a great many other interesting events. 

Boromir's and Faramir's united support for Aragorn, supported by forces untainted by the palantir, had convinced any remaining doubters among the lords of Gondor of the strength of his claim. 

The people of the City were convinced when Aragorn went down to the Houses of Healing and Healed those still suffering from the mysterious illness. 

The body of Denethor, Steward of the City, had been taken to the Rath Dinen and laid to rest in the House of the Stewards. 

When, a few days later, Aragorn had left with Boromir to climb Mount Mindolluin and to return, bearing a sapling, to plant in the court by the fountain, the celebrations began. 

Now everyone was just waiting for the guests to arrive from Rivendell, Lothlórien, and Rohan for Aragorn's coronation and wedding to Arwen Undomiel. 

"But what about the prophecy," Frodo insisted. "What was its meaning?" 

Gandalf shrugged. "The sword of Elendil woke in the Tower, Frodo, although you may not remember it. When you were in danger from the palantir, the sword awakened as it had not since it was broken on the field of Dagorlad, cutting the Ring from Sauron's hand. In fact, I am not very fond of prophecies which often seem to predict inevitable events although the events happen only because people act in response to the prophecy! I am never sure how much of a role chance plays, if you can call it chance. However, if you would like my theory, it is that your relationship with Faramir caused Denethor, influenced by Sauron, to act against you. Denethor's actions resulted in Faramir opposing his father. When Sauron tried to dominate Boromir through the palantir, Boromir resisted in part because he feared for your life." 

Frodo, hearing this, could not help interrupting. "But Boromir was the one who--" 

"Yes, yes, I know," Gandalf said testily. "He was not able to resist completely or on his own. But eventually, his fear of the evil the Stone was driving him to made him able to ask for Aragorn's help and Healing. Finally, if you had not been here, and if Elrond had not sent Aragorn and the Dúnedain here to protect you, I suspect that the palantir, acting through Denethor, might have successfully dominated not only the Steward but both his sons. Such corruption could have resulted in Gondor's Fall before Aragorn could ever have reclaimed the Kinship." 

Frodo blinked, more than a bit confused. He wasn't sure this explanation made a great deal of sense, but he didn't want to risk another lecture. His stomach rumbled. 

Faramir hugged him closer. "You have woken just in time for daymeal," he said. 

* * * * * * * 

And seven days later, on a golden afternoon, standing by Faramir's side among the people of the City, he watched the coronation of King Elessar, and, the next day, the wedding of the King to Arwen, Evenstar of her people, as their long years of labour came to an end. 

* * * * * * * 

A few days later, Faramir and Frodo stood watching a mock battle taking place on one of the Citadel's practice fields. Two figures, armored and helmed, fought each other up and down the field, the clash of their swords echoing against the walls. Frodo shuddered. He could certainly not tell they were just practicing! 

"I know you told me about how they met," he told Faramir. "But I can hardly believe it, even seeing it myself." 

"Amazing, isn't it?" 

At that point, the shorter figure deftly disarmed the larger, who threw up its hands in mock surrender. 

The smaller figure sheathed its sword and took off its helm, revealing long golden hair tumbling over her shoulders, falling to her waist. 

"That's two out of three for me, Lord Boromir," she said, smiling. 

Boromir took off his helm and bowed. "My Lady Éowyn," he said, "we will have to meet again tomorrow!" 

She laughed, and, after they shared a kiss, went off to change. 

Boromir picked up his sword, then turned around and saw Frodo and Faramir. After hesitating a moment, he sheathed his weapon and came to join them. 

He went down on one knee in front of Frodo. "I am glad to see you, Frodo," he said. "I have not yet had the chance to beg your pardon for my actions." 

"Gandalf has told me of your Shadowing, and Aragorn of your resistance. Faramir has told me how you saved us in the Tower," Frodo said. "I owe you more than I can say, so I do not believe there can be any question of pardon." 

"I feel the same way, brother," Faramir added. 

Boromir rose, holding his helm under one arm, his eyes shining as he looked at them. "I could not have done what I did save for Aragorn's help," he said. "I consider that I still owe you both a great debt. You are both kinder than I deserve." 

Faramir said, in the tones of one ending a subject for at least the moment, "We are probably all luckier than we deserve! Frodo and I are leaving for Ithilien tomorrow, so we wanted to ask if you and the Lady Éowyn would join us for dinner tonight." 

"I believe we can, but I'll need to speak to her first," Boromir said. "I have learned one thing since we were betrothed--not to assume I can speak for her! I will send you a message as soon as I can." He nodded in farewell and left them. 

Frodo and Faramir strolled back toward the Citadel. 

"Well," Faramir asked in what Frodo easily recognized as a mock serious tone. "What if the Lady Éowyn cannot or will not come? What will that to do your carefully planned menu?" 

"Nothing at all," declared Frodo. "It will simply mean there is more for us to eat!" 

And they entered the Citadel to the sound of Faramir's laugher. 


End file.
